In Loco Parentis
by Roschelle Templar
Summary: Being a brother is never easy, but some times are much more difficult than others...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

 **Author's Note** : When watching the end of the second season of ACGaS and the beginning of the third season, I keep thinking that there is a very slight, but interesting shift in how Siegfried and Tristan act around each other. Thus, this fic that explores how those subtle changes could have come about.

This chapter takes place after Ways and Means.

* * *

"James, you up for a few beers at the Drovers tonight?"

James looked up from the mortar and pestle he had been manipulating and blinked in surprise at Tristan who was standing in the middle of the surgery room. It wasn't the invitation that was so surprising. The Drovers was Tristan's usual haunt whenever he had free time and sometimes even when he didn't really have the time to spare. However, it had been a while since Tristan had invited him along or made an announcement that he was going himself.

"Sure, I think I can spare a couple hours," he said. "But just a couple hours, Tristan. I promised Helen I'd spend some time with her before I start covering evening call outs."

"Great," Tristan grinned. "After surgery then."

Footsteps marching in the hallway made that grin vanish from Tristan's face. He grabbed his bag of equipment and hustled toward the back door.

"Gotta go, James. Siegfried's already got me on all these pig inoculations and I just know he's got something else unpleasant in mind for me. So be a friend and tell him you haven't seen me."

Tristan darted out the back while still making sure to carefully close the door behind him so it wouldn't make a sound. Seconds later, Siegfried burst into the room, scanning it thoroughly before turning his attention toward James.

"James…have you seen my brother about?" he asked as he sat down onto the wooden chair in front of the desk.

Any squeamishness James felt about lying to Siegfried in regards to Tristan had long since been extinguished as he realized that it was necessary at times to keep the peace at Skeldale House.

"Um, no I haven't." Morbid curiosity about Tristan's accuracy in predicting his brother's behavior, however, never lost its fascination. "Did you need him for something?"

"No, not urgently," Siegfried mumbled as he studied some papers in front of him. "Mrs. Bond called and said something about how one of her less sociable cats is having a flea issue. Said the creature reminds her a lot of Boris. But that's nothing that can't be put off for a day or two."

James shuddered. He was convinced now that he had done the right thing, even if it was only delaying the inevitable. He also decided there was no reason to tell Tristan about this when they met up later to avoid putting a damper on the whole evening. After all, there was always the chance that Siegfried would forget about Mrs. Bond's latest feline acquisition. Although, James did not want to consider the possibility that he'd end up with that horrific chore instead.

* * *

A few hours later, James strode into the Drovers and found Tristan standing near the bar, an almost finished pint in his hand and his usual affable smile on his face.

"James," he called out. "Get you a pint? This new bitter they've got is superb."

"Sure," James said, not about to turn down this show of generosity from his friend. "I'll get us a table."

Tristan whirled back to the barmaid and ordered two more pints, making sure to flirt as much as possible as he did it. Which, with Tristan, was a surprisingly high amount.

"Oh come now, Mr. Farnon," the barmaid, Sally, said, swatting his arm playfully. "What would my Nick say if he heard you just now?"

"Maybe he'd come to his senses and stop neglecting the lovely maiden he has the privilege of courting," Tristan said, leaning onto the bar. "Or maybe you'll stop calling me 'Mr. Farnon' and my opportunity will come at last."

Sally gave him another light slap to the arm before handing Tristan his drinks. James chuckled as he watched Tristan blow her a kiss and snatch up the beers before shimmying over to their table.

"Cheers," Tristan said, taking a huge quaff from his drink as he sat down.

"Cheers," James said. He took a hardy sip and was pleased to discover that it was pretty good beer. Then again, he had expected that. When it came to beers, Tristan did know his stuff.

"Nice to see some things haven't changed," James added.

"Oh yes?" Tristan replied before draining his glass halfway down.

"Yes. I mean, you and Sally over there. I was starting to think you were taking a prolonged absence from that sort of thing after…."

James stopped, immediately regretting his words as he watched Tristan's face fall at the implied mention of Alice McTavish. It had been clear that Tristan had been quite smitten with her. Far more than his usual dalliances. At one point, James had suspected that it could get even more serious.

Then, all of the sudden, it seemed to have gone off. Alice returned to Edinburgh, and Tristan never mentioned another word about her.

Not that another word was needed. It was painfully obvious that the quieter, gloomier demeanor Tristan had had for the last couple of weeks had everything to do with Alice and the likelihood that their latest parting had been significant.

Helen had noticed the change in Tristan straight away. At first, James didn't put too much thought into her concerns, but it wasn't long before he had noticed a change in his friend too. He noted how Tristan accepted the worst jobs Siegfried could give him without complaint or even comment most of the time. Moments of playful ribbing from him or light-hearted blustering from Siegfried went unanswered with Tristan either staring silently at the floor or simply walking out of the room.

At one point, James tried talking to Siegfried about Tristan's behavior, but was stunned to find Siegfried remarkably reluctant to discuss it. Instead, Siegfried pointedly changed the subject and never brought up the matter himself.

The more he thought about it, the more confused James became as he was convinced that Siegfried was every bit as worried about Tristan as he was. If not more so. Normally, when Siegfried was concerned about his brother, it was a constant source of conversation. It only got more confusing as it slowly occurred to James that Siegfried seemed to be acting out of guilt as much as concern.

"Yes, Alice," Tristan said quietly, his smile still firmly locked onto his face. "Well, best to brush yourself off when things don't work out, you know." He took another large gulp of his pint and waved for another one.

"Yes, probably so," James said awkwardly. "Still…sorry about that, Tris. I know you really liked her and…."

"Liked her? I dare say I loved her, James," Tristan replied. "Still do."

Sally brought over a fresh pint, and Tristan finished his current one off and grinned at her as she took the empty glass away.

James looked down into his own beer, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. "I guess it wasn't meant to be then," he tried.

Tristan took another big swallow and then stared at him. "No, I suppose it wasn't. But it could have been, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"I was planning on marrying her. I'd asked Siegfried to let me run over to Edinburgh to do just that."

James gaped at him. "You were?!" Then a suspicion took root in his mind. "How did Siegfried take that?"

"Oh every bit as well as you'd expect him to," Tristan said with a hollow grin. "I told him that I'd move there after we were married and that I would give up veterinary school to work in her family's hotel. I'm sure you can imagine how well he took that."

"I certainly can," James nodded emphatically. He took a long swig of his own beer, suddenly needing it. As he drank, it occurred to him that he now had a possible reason behind Siegfried's odd behavior of late, and it made his heart drop.

"What about Alice? I take it she…well…."

"She did her best," Tristan shrugged again. "Gave me the whole 'let's not rush into anything with a war coming' speech, but it wasn't hard to figure out what she was thinking."

"I'm sorry, Tris," James said again with even more sincerity. "I really am."

Tristan finished his glass and nodded at him. "Thanks for that, James, really. But it wouldn't have worked anyway, you see. She couldn't leave that hotel and I can't leave here."

"Tris," James said, hesitant. "If you were serious about a change…."

Tristan laughed. It wasn't a happy laugh which made James even more uneasy.

"I was serious," Tristan replied. "You know that, Jim? For a day or two there, I really was serious about throwing everything over so I could run off with her." His face fell again. "But later that night, after she left and all, I started to think she did me a favor. Maybe that's what she intended all along. I don't know."

James nodded and sipped some more at his beer. He could believe that. Alice had seemed responsible and sensible. Maybe she had left just so Tristan wouldn't act in the heat of passion. Problem was, the way Tristan was talking gave their relationship a grim finality.

"Did you know that I've lived with Siegfried for most of my life?" Tristan suddenly added.

"Um no, I didn't," James said weakly, startled by the abrupt change of topics. "I guess I assumed that you started living with him when you started up with veterinary school."

"Hardly," Tristan said. "He took me in when I was still a kid. He'd just become qualified a year previous and was working as an assistant in someone else's practice. I was only eleven when he did it."

"Really?" James said, genuinely surprised. "I'm amazed he'd want to take on a burden like that." He immediately realized how that sounded and cleared his throat. "I mean, it's a lot of work when you're just starting out. Even more so, I'd imagine, if you had family to look after."

"Yes, it really is," Tristan smiled. Then his voice became strangely distant. "I still remember the day he took me in. After Father died and Siegfried went off to school, Mother and I lived on our own for a couple of years. But then it got to be too much for her and we moved in with a cousin of hers, Nellie. Then a year or so after that, Nellie got married to her sweetheart, Jack. Jack and I…we didn't get on very well."

James felt his uneasiness increase again as he finished his beer and nodded attentively to show he was listening. Although, at that moment, he wasn't entirely sure if Tristan was even aware of him.

"Jack never wanted kids in the house, you see," Tristan continued. "So he made sure to let me know just what he thought about having me around. He'd yell at me a lot, and it wasn't like how it is with Siegfried, either. He was putting me in my place. Mother never heard the worst of it because he made sure she wasn't around for it. But then…once in a while…it moved beyond just words."

James felt the breath in his throat catch. He could already tell where this was going and even though it had all happened years ago, he hated to think about his best friend being treated that way as a child.

"That day, Siegfried was coming to visit us for the weekend," Tristan said. "Back then, I wasn't very clever about hiding things. It didn't take him long to find me and see the black eye I'd gotten the night before."

Tristan paused and for a moment, James thought he was finished with his story. He started to struggle to find the appropriate words when Tristan started up again.

"Siegfried, he didn't say a word. Not one. He just took me by the hand, marched me to my room, packed my suitcases and took me out to the car. He went back in for a minute, probably to talk to Mother, and then he came out and we took off."

Tristan started to raise his hand to signal for more beer, but then started to draw circles on the tabletop with his index finger. "We must have sped down the road for an hour before he finally pulled over and spoke to me. He told me that I was not going back and that I was going to live with him from that point on. Then he asked me if that was all right. Well…I knew I'd miss Mother, but…."

"But you were only too happy to say yes," James finished for him.

"Yes, very," Tristan said with a sad smile. "I've lived with him ever since. And you know Siegfried, Jim. He's impossible, always yelling and coming up with ridiculous ideas. But…I've never regretted it. Going to live with him. Not once."

"Tris…I'm sorry," James said again. "For…you know…."

Tristan blinked in surprise and looked over at him. The smile was still sad, but it was genuine. "It's all right. It wasn't always that bad with Jack, you know. And it was so much better once I started living with Siegfried. He was always busy with work, so I'd help out wherever I could with chores and things. It was absolutely potty at times, but I really was happy."

"Your brother is a good man," James said somberly.

Tristan nodded. "I owe him everything. If he hadn't taken me away from there…."

He brushed that thought away with a wave of his hand and signaled for another drink. This time, he popped up and fetched it himself. He was already sipping it by the time he sat back down.

"I could have married Alice and I would have loved her. But…I don't think I would have been happy. Not really. Not if it meant not being a vet and leaving Siegfried behind."

James signaled for another drink for himself and nodded. On the surface, it was hard to fathom Tristan longing to stay close to Siegfried given how volatile their relationship could be at times. Then again, James had also been around the two of them long enough to know that there was a deep bond of affection behind all that bickering.

Still, this was the first time he'd heard Tristan be so direct with his fondness for Siegfried although given what he had just learned about Tris' childhood, James could understand it.

"Turns out Alice is the same way," Tristan added. "Having something she really wants to do and not being able to leave her family. So you see, it couldn't have worked out even if we do love each other."

Tristan peered down into his glass. James got the uncomfortable sense that Tristan was still trying to convince himself of that and wasn't sure if he should assist in it or not.

"Tris, if there was a way," he said cautiously. "A way for you to be a vet and marry Alice…I'm sure Siegfried would want you to be happy."

"It's not that, James," Tristan said with a soft laugh. "Well it is that, but it's not just that." Tristan's words were starting to slur, a sign that the bitters were finally starting to have an effect.

"He'd never say it," Tristan said with an emphatic shake of his head. "If I left and joined someone else's practice…he'd never say it hurt him. He'd probably act like it was all his idea. That's just like Siegfried, you know. But it would have, James. You know it would. It's why he hasn't hired another assistant even though I'm not qualified. He's planned it for years. My being here, being a partner."

Tristan leaned forward, waving an unsteady finger as he did so. "Think about it, Jim. When was the last time you've heard my brother mention something he wants? Not for the practice or the household or anything like that. I mean, just for himself."

James blinked in surprise. He hadn't really thought about it before, but now that Tristan mentioned it, it was rare for Siegfried to spend much time dwelling on personal desires aside from wanting time to himself. Siegfried usually turned his attention to taking care of others: him and Helen, Tristan, the farmers and clients who needed him.

However, one thing that Siegfried had mentioned to him privately more than once was his eagerness to make Tristan a junior partner in the practice. James had agreed with it, of course, but it wasn't until now that he understood that it wasn't just about balancing the workload or shoring up business.

"I know it means a lot to him," Tristan said, seemingly reading his mind. "And I can't take that away from him, Jim. I can't. Don't get me wrong, it means something to me too. I just forget about that once in a while is all. And I'd miss him terribly if I left. But don't you dare tell him that or he'll be even more impossible to live with. You know he would be."

"Your secret is safe with me, Tris," James laughed. Tristan grinned back at him, and James was relieved to find the tension in his friend starting to drift away.

"I did love her, and I'll miss her," Tristan said. "But maybe, someday, I'll…." He stopped and laughed again. "You know what, James, I feel like getting drunk right now."

"I'd say you're already most of the way there," James said with another laugh. "Come on, Tris. Let's have these be our last ones."

"Nonsense, I'm good for one more," Tristan protested. "Or even three more. And if you're worried about Siegfried…he won't mind."

"Three more? Absolutely not," James said. "And you know very well that he would mind if you show up to breakfast tomorrow with another hangover."

"Yes, I suppose he would," Tristan said. "But I can always hope, can't I? Come on, James."

"Siegfried is not the only one around here who's impossible," James said, smirking at him.

Tristan stuck out his bottom lip in an attempt to pout, prompting James to laugh again. It probably wouldn't hurt to let Tris have one more pint. After that, he could steer Tristan home and hope that there wouldn't be much of hangover tomorrow.

"All right, one more," James said. "And then I've got to get home to Helen."

Tristan grinned at him and got up to get another set of beers. James was certain that Tristan needed more time to get over what happened with Alice, but at least now he felt confident that it would eventually happen.

Especially now that he knew for certain that there was nowhere else Tristan would rather be.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 **Author's Note** : This chapter takes place after A Dog's Life.

* * *

James had only been in the surgery for five minutes, but was already confident that another explosive conflict was due any minute now.

It had started at breakfast. Siegfried was already in a foul mood due to a client he saw yesterday whom he refused to name or even talk about. Tristan showing up late and just wanting tea and toast for breakfast, a sure sign he was nursing a hangover, only increased the tension.

It got worse when Tristan reported in to cover morning surgery and brazenly began smoking with little intent of hiding it from Siegfried, who was sure to walk in and catch him at it.

James began gathering up his equipment for his morning visits and let out a sigh. Looking back on it, he wished he hadn't gone through with his prank of electing Tristan to fill in for his brother during the Darrowby "Battle of Wits" Tournament. Granted, Tristan deserved some payback for all the pranks he'd pulled in the past and that he continued to inflict upon him.

Still, for some reason, Tristan was taking the fiasco of the tournament much harder than James figured he would. James suspected that a large part of that could be because Siegfried was still grousing over his brother's poor performance a week later. Although, this was far from the first time that Siegfried had got on at him over something trivial. Thus, James was surprised when Tristan didn't just brush it aside like usual.

Less than a minute later, James' prediction came true with Siegfried bursting into the surgery, and Tristan half-heartedly trying to conceal his cigarette. The resulting conflagration was sure to be a loud one.

"Right, little brother, since you seem to be either unable to read the sign I've taken the care to post or the copious amounts of alcohol you continue to imbibe have given you an appalling memory, it's time you did some additional work to jog your brain cells. After all, sound body, sound mind."

Tristan glared at Siegfried, but did not otherwise respond. That worried James a bit as usually Tristan would offer at least a token protest to get out of additional work. However, Siegfried didn't appear to notice.

"Given your natural talent for all things porcine, I'll have you look in on Dent. Seems he's worried about a couple of his pigs."

"Hang on, Siegfried," James said. "I thought I was supposed to be doing that."

"No James, you have much more pressing matters to attend to," Siegfried replied. "Mrs. Pumphrey is concerned that Tricki-Woo isn't chasing his rings with quite the same enthusiasm that he used to. Best see if something is actually wrong before the problem can get worse."

James was certain that the real "pressing matter" Siegfried was concerned about was the possibility of getting another hamper of goodies delivered to the house, but didn't share that thought.

"Then there's the mucking out of the stable," Siegfried continued. "Which you just volunteered for with your misguided act of rebellion. And there's those samples I need sent to the lab for testing. You know which ones I mean?"

"Yes Siegfried," Tristan said, his voice dull, but with an edge of exasperation.

"Because I wouldn't want you to mix up our samples again like you did with that loathsome Cranford. Mind you, that turned out to be fortuitous for us, but you should not count on skating by with such luck all the time."

"Yes, Siegfried," Tristan repeated. James noted the increase in the harshness of Tristan's tone, but Siegfried pressed on.

"Especially given our current reputation in Darrowby after your abysmal performance in that tournament. Last night, I was at the Drovers and found myself avoided at every turn by men who are not likely to forgive or forget any time soon. Do you know that one of their favorite pastimes now is to recite the answers to the questions you flubbed? Answers that should have easily rolled off your tongue given your level of education and…."

"I told you that I'm no good at that sort of thing," Tristan nearly shouted as he rose to his feet. "That's why I didn't want to get involved."

"But, my boy, you should be good at it," Siegfried said. "After all, how do you expect to pass your final exams if you can't even…."

"Well maybe that's why I keep failing or hadn't you ever thought of that?" Tristan interrupted. "No, of course not. You think it's just because I enjoy a drink sometimes or try to have a social life or because I don't spend every waking moment with my nose stuck in a book like you did. But you hadn't thought of that, had you?"

Siegfried looked like he was going to reply, but Tristan marched over to him before he could speak.

"Maybe I keep failing because I really am an idiot and unreliable. Maybe I'm not cut out for any of this and can't ever measure up to you. It's a possibility, isn't it? That I'm stupid, worthless and lazy and you'll always have to pick up after me."

James squirmed. Guilt gnawed at him for being the cause of this particularly sore spot of disagreement between the Farnons. Even worse was his dismay over the things that Tristan had just said. Tris didn't believe any of that, did he? True, Tristan made the occasional blunder and could be guilty of laziness, but he was far from a useless oaf. James had seen Tristan's confidence flag from time to time, but never to this level.

He looked over to Siegfried and was even more stunned to see that the older man's face had turned white with a look of growing horror in his eyes.

Then, suddenly, the moment ended and both Siegfried and Tristan turned away from each other.

"I should get going if I'm going to make the post in time," Tristan mumbled. He scrambled to gather the things he needed and rushed out the back door.

Siegfried wandered around the surgery as if he were lost. "Yes…yes and I should…."

His voice trailed off as he snatched up his bag and threw a few things into it before walking out the door. James almost reminded Siegfried that he was supposed to be watching morning surgery, but a few seconds later, Siegfried returned.

"Ah James, you probably should get going if you're going to stop by Mrs. Pumphrey's. She does tend to take up a lot of time."

"She does," James agreed. He picked up his bag. "Well, I'm off. See you later, Siegfried."

"Take care, James," Siegfried said quietly.

Siegfried sat down in the old wooden chair in the surgery and began flipping through paperwork. James hesitated for a moment, uneasy about leaving Siegfried in such a disturbed state. However, it occurred to him that it might be best to leave Siegfried on his own for a while and took off.

* * *

The mood around Skeldale House did not improve by evening. Tristan showed up long enough to report on the jobs he had performed and then disappeared before dinner was served. At the table, Siegfried listened with interest to James' report on the jobs he did and to Helen's account of her day, but was otherwise strangely taciturn.

After dinner, Helen pulled James aside and asked if he knew what was wrong. He told her about what had happened that morning and by the end of it there was a sad, exasperated look in her eyes.

"Poor Tris," she said, shaking her head. "He's taking this so hard."

"He is," James replied. "And whatever's going on, it's got Siegfried down too. You didn't see the look he had in the surgery. I've never seen him look like that before, Helen. It was…I don't even know how to describe it other than haunted."

"Maybe you should talk to him," Helen said. "Or to Tris."

"You think I haven't tried?" James sighed. "Talking to Siegfried about it is like talking to a brick wall. That is, until he changes the subject. And Tris, he just ran off when I tried saying something to him about it. Honestly, I think this is something they'll have to work out between them."

"But James, you know how hard it is for them to really talk when they're like this," Helen said. "And who knows when Tris will get back tonight."

"Yes, and it's Siegfried's turn for evening call outs," James said. "So he could leave at any time."

"Well that settles it then," Helen responded with a new air of determination. "It looks like it's up to us to help things along."

* * *

Two hours later, Siegfried Farnon sat in front of the fireplace, the lights dimmed and a couple of fingers of whiskey in the glass in his hand.

Earlier, James offered to take on the evening call outs and while Siegfried tried to more than once to refuse, James wouldn't hear of it. His evening suddenly free, Siegfried tried to think of something to do, but his troubled mind was too set on brooding to come up with any plans. As a result, he ended up sitting alone and trying to clear his thoughts.

However, no matter how many times he tried, they kept returning to Tristan.

Siegfried let out a long sigh and took a drink. He would never admit it out loud, but he knew that he could be irascible. Once in a while. Perhaps a bit more often than that even. Still, having had Tristan live with him for so many years, Siegfried had taken it for granted that his brother would always know when he was genuinely upset about something and when it was just frustrated bluster.

Consequently, he had thought that Tristan understood that his irritability over his brother's performance at that so-called Battle of Wits. Questionable as it was. Siegfried figured that Tristan simply knew that he wasn't frustrated over Tristan's poor performance itself or even because of the petty snubbing they were getting from some of the men in Darrowby.

No, what had upset him was the fact that Tristan had failed despite the absolute belief that Siegfried had that his brother would have no reason to fail.

Siegfried took another large sip from his whisky and stared at the crackling fire, his features grim. He knew that Tristan was intelligent. Brilliant even. Brilliant, talented and with a compassionate heart. So why did his little brother do so many absurd and irresponsible things? Instead of staying the course and working toward success, Tristan kept coasting through life, boozing, pulling childish pranks and wasting his time on the most ridiculous pursuits. It was as if Tristan was doing everything he could to distract people from the finer qualities Siegfried knew he possessed. And it was maddening. Really, how could anyone expect him to always remain calm and even-tempered in the face of all that?

However, what happened this morning had thrown a spanner into Siegfried's beliefs about the source of Tristan's problems in life. For so long, he had truly believed that his brother was aware of his own brilliance and simply chose to not utilize it properly out of misguided arrogance.

But now, Siegfried was forced to question this. What if Tristan wasn't actually aware of how gifted he was? What if it wasn't arrogant confidence holding him back, but timid insecurity instead?

A cold, hard knot twisted inside Siegfried which was only marginally numbed by the alcohol he was consuming. He thought back to the words Tristan had shouted at him this morning, words Siegfried knew he had used at Tristan in the past during the heat of anger. He had never truly meant any of them, of course. Still, something about hearing them said back to him made them far more disconcerting.

Partially because they brought back such horrid memories.

" _Why do I have to put up with you, you little idiot? You're useless, stupid and lazy. You're nothing but a millstone around everyone else's necks. What are you going to do? Have your brother pick up after you for the rest of your life?"_

Siegfried finished his drink with a large swallow and slammed the glass down onto the settee. Mother's cousin Jack had thought that Siegfried never heard the hurtful tirades that were let loose on Tristan, but he had heard more than one of them. Jack was a bully who took every opportunity he could to tear Tristan down simply because Tristan, a sweet, playful child who wasn't always good at standing up for himself, was an easy target.

Of course, Jack knew better than to say these things around Mother, lest he upset her or his wife, Nellie. He also made sure to hold back around Siegfried because like most bullies, Jack was afraid of anyone who was willing to confront him.

Siegfried had tried talking to Mother about it, but Mother always insisted that it "wasn't as bad as all that" and that it didn't happen very often anyway. Siegfried had severe doubts, but he let himself be assured by Mother's placating and by the fact that Tristan still seemed cheerful whenever Siegfried was around.

Besides that, there was the fact that he was constantly busy with his veterinary studies and then with his first job as an assistant in an established practice. He really did not have the time to spare to get even more involved in Tristan's upbringing. So he set his concerns aside and did his best to make sure that Tristan would benefit from the time they could spend together.

Then came the day when he came to visit and had all of his worst fears confirmed.

Siegfried knew that there was something wrong from the moment he arrived. Usually, Tristan would be rushing to greet him before Siegfried could even enter the house. Instead, Mother met with him first and made a vague reference to Tristan having "a bad evening" with Jack. He immediately began searching for his little brother and was horrified to find Tristan hiding behind a couch and sporting a livid black eye.

In that moment, Siegfried closed himself off and acted without forethought. He simply packed up his baby brother and took off as fast as he could. He did this with as few words as possible because Siegfried knew that, if he allowed even the tiniest sliver of the rage he felt escape, he wouldn't be able to stop it from all coming out in a torrent.

It took almost an hour of furious driving before Siegfried trusted himself to speak again. It was a mood he regretted when he finally realized that Tristan had been softly crying for a while. Siegfried immediately pulled over, deeply worried that he had made a mistake and had caused his little brother even more suffering.

He carefully explained to Tristan that he didn't have to go back and that they could live together instead, still valiantly hoping that he had done the right thing. Relief finally came when Tristan grabbed him for a hug and thanked Siegfried.

From that moment on, Siegfried saw it as his job to undo any damage Jack might have caused. He would prove to Tristan that he was far from stupid or useless by guiding and pushing him to succeed. And he would make sure that Tristan had every opportunity to excel.

Most of all, he would care for his little brother, but not coddle him the way Mother did. Coddling had done nothing to protect Tristan from Jack's abuse. What his baby brother needed was the strength to become his own man. That strength would come from love that was firmly tempered with discipline.

Siegfried lowered his eyes, sadness flickering inside them. He had tried so hard to do right by his little brother although he was certain that he had made plenty of mistakes. Still, Siegfried had thought that that he had succeeded for the most part in helping Tristan to grow into a healthy, good-natured young man with a bright future ahead of him.

However, now, Siegfried wondered if he had really succeeded at all. Had the damage Jack done run even deeper than he had originally thought? Would Tristan ever be able overcome the darkest moments of his childhood?

Even more horrifying to Siegfried was the possibility that he had actually contributed to Tristan's crippling insecurity. That, in the end, he had been no different than Jack had been in his treatment of his baby brother.

"Siegfried…?"

Siegfried started and turned to see Tristan standing in the doorway.

"Ah Tristan," he said, suddenly struggling to find words. "I, I thought you'd still be at the Drovers this early in the evening."

"Guess I wasn't really up for it," Tristan shrugged. "I thought you were doing evening call outs."

"James offered to take them," Siegfried said. "Was rather insistent about it actually."

"That's odd," Tristan said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "James also stopped by the Drovers and acted like you might need my help with the calls."

Siegfried's eyebrows rose in surprise for a second before understanding finally came to him and he let out an exasperated sigh. James. And probably Helen too. This was clearly their little plot at work. Normally, Siegfried wasn't fond of such obvious meddling, but he could appreciate the sentiment behind it.

He noticed Tristan eyeing the tantalus. "Feel free to help yourself, if you'd like."

"No, um, I had a couple of pints already, thanks," Tristan said, starting to move away. "I'll just…."

"Tristan."

Tristan paused in the doorway. Even with the lights down, Siegfried could see that his brother was pale and worn. He knew for a fact that Tristan had skipped breakfast and dinner and suspected that he hadn't eaten much, if anything, elsewhere. Siegfried wished he had some food on hand to give him, but decided that there were other matters he needed to focus on first.

Siegfried waved a hand at the space beside him on the couch. Tristan nodded and trudged over, plopping down and leaning forward with his head bent toward the floor.

"Tristan…about this morning…."

Tristan shook his head. "It's nothing…I mean, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…."

"No, no, let me finish," Siegfried said, patting his brother's forearm. "I let my pride over a frivolous competition override my better judgment. And you were right. I had had time to prepare whereas you had work and were, hopefully, studying for your exams. You couldn't have possibly been expected to perform at your best, and I was churlish in my appraisal of your skills. And I am truly sorry for that."

"It's all right, Siegfried," Tristan said, shaking his head again.

"No I mean it. My behavior was completely uncalled for. "'Battle of Wits'? What nonsense. Intelligence is far more than memorizing random facts. If it were that simple, anyone could simply read a few textbooks and become a veterinarian themselves without bothering with schools or fieldwork. But we know better than that, don't we, little brother?"

"Do we?"

The words were said with such bitterness and with so much defeat that Siegfried was taken aback, his heart dropping.

"Of course we do," he insisted. "There's more to being a vet than regurgitating information. There's knowing how to use what we've learned, knowing when to rely on our instincts rather than on what the textbooks might tell us. No man can ever hope to be a first-class vet without these essential skills."

"That's if he becomes a vet at all," Tristan said.

Siegfried frowned. "Now look here, Tristan, there is no need to conflate a bad showing on some inconsequential trivia contest with your chances of…."

"Why not?" Tristan interjected, leaping to his feet. "It's all the same, isn't it?" He paced back and forth in front of Siegfried. "It was just like being with the examiners, all those eyes staring at me, waiting for answers. And just like then, I panicked and failed. I keep doing that. I prepare and prepare and I think I have it down. But then I get up in front of them and it's gone. I become a blithering mess of nerves and my mind goes blank."

Tristan turned away, his head bowing again. "Don't you see? It's no good. I'm not like you, Siegfried. And…and maybe I should stop wasting my time and your money trying to be something I'm not cut out to be. Maybe I should…."

Tristan shrugged and slumped down even more. Siegfried heaved a great sigh and rubbed his eyes.

"Tristan, sit down." Tristan didn't move. "I said, sit down."

His brother finally complied, and Siegfried took another deep breath before facing him. He knew he probably only had one chance to do this right and the enormity of that was daunting.

Still, if there were any certainties in life, one of them had to be that, when it truly mattered, Siegfried Farnon never backed away from a challenge.

"Tristan." His brother looked up at him, and Siegfried gave him a half-smile. "That is utter nonsense, and you know it."

"Siegfried, I…."

Siegfried held up a warning finger. "I've listened to you, now it's time for you to listen. You forget, little brother, that you work for me. On those occasions that you do decide to work. Consequently, I know far more about your abilities and what you've accomplished than even your professors. I've seen you take disjointed pieces of information our clients give you and make spot-on, insightful diagnoses even when several other plausible possibilities could have clouded your judgment. I've seen you perform delicate, complicated surgery on small animals that would challenge even experienced practitioners. James and I have both witnessed times when you demonstrated great passion and determination in treating the animals in our care despite any difficulties you faced."

Siegfried paused, letting all of this sink in for a moment before continuing. "These are not things just anyone can do. It's that true Farnon genius shining through," he said, punctuating his words with light pats to Tristan's arm. "So let go of this preposterous notion that you don't have it in you to become qualified. Heaven knows, I wouldn't be holding another junior partnership in reserve if I didn't know otherwise."

A faint smile slowly appeared on Tristan's lips, making Siegfried's heart feel lighter than it had all day.

"Now then, we simply need to unravel your difficulty with these exams," he continued. "You say that you prepare for them. All right, we'll accept that possibility for the sake of discussion. Dubious as it appears at times. Granted, I did help you prepare this last time, so there must be some truth to it. So what exactly is giving you problems?"

Tristan's eyebrows furrowed. "Well…I suppose it's the setting. Standing in front of them. Them asking me questions and my having to come up with answers on demand. I know the answers, honestly I do. But something about it all…I just get so nervous."

"But why is that?" Siegfried said. "As you've just said, you know the answers so you should have nothing to be nervous about."

"I know…but…standing in front of them and knowing the clock's ticking….I can't take it. I can't stand them watching me like that."

"You mean nerves over speaking in front of other people?" Siegfried asked. "But I've seen you make yourself the center of attention plenty of times. It's a regular habit of yours to entertain everyone at the Drovers with your farcical escapades."

"Yes, well, that's the Drovers," Tristan replied. "It's not the same at all."

"Well of course it's not the same exact setting or purpose," Siegfried said. "But the basic principle remains the same: performing in front of others and allowing yourself to be scrutinized by them. We simply need to find a way to extend the confidence you have in that setting to that of the examination room."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Tristan said with a chuckle. "Sneak in a few pints past the examiner?"

"If you think for even one moment that I would encourage you to engage in your typical debauched behavior in front of the examiners, you have well and truly lost your reason," Siegfried said, a mock-stern expression on his face. "No, I'm referring to the psychology, my dear boy. We must train your mind to view the examination room with the same level of confidence as the Drovers. And we shall start on this endeavor as soon as possible so that, when finals come up again, you will pass them this time."

"Hopefully," Tristan said with a nervous laugh. Siegfried lightly squeezed his arm so that his brother would look him in the eye.

"You will pass your exams," he said, his voice gentle but serious. "It's time for the rest of the world to learn what I already know."

Tristan beamed at him, and Siegfried smiled back and patted his shoulder.

"Now, I hope you've learned something tonight. And that, in the future, you won't allow any cruel, fatuous remarks you heard in the past influence your perception of your skills. Just because he was family doesn't mean…."

Siegfried stopped abruptly, realizing instantly that he had said too much. His discomfiture grew when he noticed that Tristan was staring at him. Siegfried worked hard to resist the urge to squirm as his baby brother deciphered the meaning behind the words he hadn't spoken.

This continued for another long, silent minute and then Tristan leaned back against the couch and turned his gaze toward the fireplace.

"You're nothing like him, you know," Tristan said softly. "I never thought you were. That day, when you took me away to live with you…it was the best day of my life. I honestly don't know if I would have made it if you hadn't done that."

Siegfried struggled to swallow around the lump in his throat. "Tristan…if I had known…if I could have gotten you out of that house even one moment sooner…."

"I know," Tristan said. "It's all right, Siegfried, really."

Siegfried ground his jaw. It damn well wasn't all right at all. It was something he knew he'd never forgive himself for. But even when dealing with the darker emotions that came with those old wounds, he was pragmatic enough to stop himself from dwelling on them for too long. Tristan was clearly trying to spare his feelings, and Siegfried decided it was much more important to focus in the affection implied in the gesture.

He gently squeezed Tristan's arm again. "You should get some rest. You're wearing yourself out, old chap and there will be plenty to do tomorrow. And for Heaven's sake make sure to eat breakfast this time. Mrs. Hall's meals are far too sublime to let them go to waste."

"I will," Tristan nodded. "But…if you don't mind, Siegfried, I…I'd like to stay here for a while."

Siegfried watched him, a hint of a smile on his lips. "All right. Are you sure you wouldn't like a night cap?"

"No, I'm all right," Tristan said with a yawn. Siegfried nodded and went back to facing the fire.

"Do you know what I was just thinking of? That time not long after you moved in with me and I was taking you out for an ice cream and instead we ended up having to go to old Peringshaw's place to check in on that ridiculous cow of his. I'll never forget the look he had when we showed up. I'm certain that he was starting to wonder if I was making you live in my car. I suppose I was in a way a couple of times there. Anyway, that cow, I'll never understand how just one cow could get into so much…."

A soft snore put a halt to Siegfried's reminisces. He turned his head to see that Tristan had fallen asleep, his head drooping awkwardly. Siegfried smirked at him fondly. Silly blighter. He knew that Tristan had worn himself out when he had made the suggestion to go to bed. It was so typical of his baby brother to ignore the sound advice he gave him regarding his health.

Siegfried carefully got up and fetched a blanket, draping it over his brother's sleeping form before sitting back down. Tristan slumped down against the back of the couch, and Siegfried let himself sink into the cushions.

"Rest now, little brother," he whispered. "And tomorrow, we shall continue our work on your future."

* * *

Three hours later, the phone rang, and James rushed down the stairs to answer it. Some sheep were vomiting and James knew that it was serious enough to demand his immediate attention. When he got off the phone, he looked up at the staircase to see that Helen had followed him down.

"You might as well get back to bed," he told her. "I'm sure I'll be gone most of the rest of the night."

"I'll keep a light on for you anyway," she smiled. "James, do you think our plan worked? I never did hear Tristan come in."

"Well the fire's still on in the front room," James said. "Last I knew, Siegfried was sitting up in there."

The two of them crept toward the light flickering out of the partially open door and peered inside. There, they found Siegfried slumped down on the couch, dozing in front of the fire. Meanwhile, Tristan was curled up on his side next to him. His head was in Siegfried's lap with Siegfried's hand on his shoulder.

James exchanged a smile with Helen as the two of them pulled back into the hallway.

"I'd say it was mission accomplished," James said. "At least until the next crisis."

Helen swatted his arm lightly. "James, you know it's not usually like that."

"No I suppose it isn't," James chuckled. "Even if it is often lunacy."

"And you wouldn't have it any other way," Helen said, kissing him. "And neither would I."

James grinned at her and gave her another kiss before rushing off to get ready for another long night.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

 **Author's Note** : This chapter is the end of the three part arc I had originally planned for this fic. However, I enjoyed writing these chapters so much, I've decided to expand this to include more chapters related to bits from the episodes that inspire me. I might also add in some pre-canon chapters in the future.

This chapter takes place after Plenty to Grouse About.

 **Dublinscot** : Thank you so much for your kind review. :) Keeping the characters in-character is one of the biggest concerns I have when writing fic, so I'm thrilled that they seem in-character to you. And I agree with you that that the Farnon brothers and their wonderfully nuanced and amusing relationship is one of the best things about the show. So I can promise you that you'll be seeing more from me before too long.

* * *

"Siegfried, this is your daftest idea yet."

Siegfried gave Tristan a meaningful blink in response, but remained silent. Instead, he waited until the two pints of bitters he had ordered were placed in front of them before choosing to comment.

"If you recall, we decided that it's the psychology of the examination setting that is a major stumbling block to your passing your exams and becoming qualified. So what better place to address that problem than here? A place where you are quite comfortable with making an exhibition of yourself on a regular basis."

"Hardly an exhibition every time, Siegfried," Tristan replied. The beginnings of a pout appeared on his face. "And how am I supposed to study here anyway? There's too much going on. Hang it all, Siegfried, this is never going to work."

"My dear Tristan, if there was one annoying habit of yours I could eradicate, it has to be this one," Siegfried said with gentle exasperation. "This irritating tendency of yours to give up on something just because you're unsure of it. Uncertainty is part of life and is constantly present in our profession. You cannot keep letting yourself become paralyzed into inaction just because you're afraid of making a mistake."

Tristan flinched, and Siegfried knew that he had touched a nerve. Then Tristan finally picked up his glass and took a healthy swallow, staring down into the beer as he finished.

Siegfried placed a hand on his forearm. "You or I or perhaps both of us will get frustrated over your mistakes. That's to be expected. My only disappointment in you is when you don't learn anything from your mistakes."

He paused and took a drink from his glass so that Tristan could have a moment to digest that thought. Then, Siegfried grabbed the sleeve of his brother's jacket and pulled him over to an empty table. After they sat down, Siegfried leaned back, still holding his glass in his hand.

"And for your edification, we are not here to study," he continued. "That is for you to do on your own time. Tonight, we are here for a chat."

Tristan's face scrunched in confusion. "A chat?"

"Yes. For starters, let's talk about ticks. That beastly man, Murray, had no idea what he was dealing with in regards to louping ill which is why he was so easy to beguile. He could have done himself a favor by allowing you to educate him."

A wide smile appeared on Tristan's face, and Siegfried struggled to keep his own smile from growing. He couldn't fathom why James could not understand the need for him to hold back on the praises he frequently held in his heart for Tristan. Siegfried was certain that, if he gushed out all of the positive things he thought about his little brother's achievements and skills, they would swiftly lose their impact.

Of course, there was also the danger of Tristan becoming overly confident or, even worse, eager to please and thus, unwilling to assert his own mind. No, it was better for his baby brother to believe that he had to earn every single bit of praise rather than expect or demand it from him.

"So tell me, what made you think that he couldn't have brought louping ill all the way from Scotland?" Siegfried asked. "And what else should he have known about it in regards to the farmers' sheep and his precious grouse?"

Tristan cleared his throat. "Well, louping ill is really more about the tick just having a chance to infest something rather than targeting sheep or grouse in particular. And I tried to tell him that the problem is not so much the ticks as it is a virus. Um, _ovine encephalomyelitis_. That's the real culprit."

Siegfried continued to sip at his pint, a useful way to hide the satisfied smile that kept appearing on his lips. Tristan did indeed know what he was talking about in regards to ticks and the problems they could give animals.

He was also relieved that his belief in his brother's intelligence and knowledge had not been borne out of misguided fraternal affection. More than once, Siegfried was pleased to listen as Tristan rambled out facts and theory in a way that indicated a thorough understanding rather than a simple surface memorization.

Soon, their chat moved on to other kinds of ticks, and Siegfried was generous enough to refill Tristan's glass more than once during the discussion. Only when Tristan's demeanor became a bit too giddy did Siegfried put a stop to it.

"Tristan, do you realize that you just spend over two hours giving a highly detailed talk about a variety of ticks and the diseases they can spread?"

"Oh lord, really?" Tristan said with a lopsided smile. "What an awful way to spend a night out."

"No, no, no, it's perfect," Siegfried insisted. "If an examiner had heard this, there would be no doubt in his mind that you have a comprehensive knowledge of the subject. You see, my boy, it's all up here." He gave Tristan's forehead a firm tap with the tip of his index finger. "So it's just matter of bringing it out for others to see."

Tristan shrugged. "I suppose so. But can't we talk about something else now, Siegfried? Like that new barmaid they have working here on Thursdays."

Siegfried snorted and shook his head. "She can't be that exceptional."

"Why not?"

Siegfried gave his brother a smirk before raising his glass up for another drink. "You wouldn't have told me about her if she was."

* * *

Over the next three weeks, this routine continued. Siegfried would invite Tristan over to the Drovers a couple nights a week and spend at least two hours going over some job Tristan had had to do in great detail: a calving that had had complications, a sow that had suddenly stopped eating and needed treatment, or a ewe that had developed tetanus.

Each time, Siegfried indulged his brother two or even up to four pints of beer and made sure to ask guiding questions that would force Tristan to not only talk about the jobs themselves, but also give information related to them such as alternate diagnosis that could have been made or additional complications that could have developed if they had been left untreated.

It was a messy, undisciplined and completely haphazard way to go about it, but Siegfried was more than pleased with the results. They had managed to cover most of the major sections of interest in both parasitology and pathology as well as some other areas of theory that would be useful supplements to Tristan's body of knowledge.

"…and so that's why when you think milk fever could be present, you check for tachycardia, low temperature and dry muzzles," Tristan said before finishing his latest pint. "Because you don't want to make the wrong diagnosis and let it progress to a coma which could be fatal."

"Right you are, little brother," Siegfried said, clinking his glass against Tristan's. "Right you are."

The first stage of his plan had been a resounding success. Now, Siegfried believed it was time for the next stage to begin.

* * *

Two weeks later, things seemed to be continuing on as usual.

"One pint of bitter and a whisky, if you please," Siegfried requested.

He placed the appropriate amount of money on the bar and watched as Tristan beamed at him. Siegfried was certain that his little brother was enjoying this run of free beers he had been treated to for over a month. As it was, Siegfried did not mind the expense. He was determined to have Tristan succeed at his next round of exams and considered this a frugal investment compared to additional years of schooling that his brother did not need.

However, Siegfried was also certain that Tristan had not paid much attention to the knapsack he had brought with him. Nor could he be aware that he would have to earn his beers tonight.

After they had gotten their drinks, Siegfried sat down and watched Tristan take his first swallow of beer before snatching the glass from his hands.

"Siegfried! What are you…?"

"My dear brother, don't fuss," Siegfried said as he set the glass aside. He took out his glasses and put them on. "You'll get your drink back. Provided, of course…."

Tristan peered at him, suspicion in his eyes. "Provided what?"

"Provided that you give me the answers I'll be looking for." Siegfried pulled out a couple of books from his knapsack and a pad of paper along with a pencil.

Tristan pouted. "Have a heart, Siegfried. I've already had a rotten day dealing with those blasted cows you said might have brucellosis. I think I'm entitled to at least one drink without submitting myself to an inquisition."

"What inquisition? It's not as if I'm asking you to do anything overly taxing. I'm just going to ask you some questions and for each correct answer you give, you can have another healthy swallow of this fine Yorkshire bitter I have sitting next to me."

Siegfried took a hearty sip from his whisky and let out a loud sigh of satisfaction when he was finished, a gesture he knew would prod his little brother even more. The look that appeared in Tristan's eyes told him that it had had the desired effect.

"I could just buy my own."

"You could, but where is the fun for you in that? Don't tell me that there's not even a minuscule part of you that would like to show me up. Make me pay for your drinks tonight so you can hold onto your money for some other night of debauched revelry."

The pout left Tristan's face, and Siegfried knew he had him. No matter what else Tristan was, he was still a Farnon and Farnons had their pride.

It probably wasn't needed by this point, but Siegfried saw no harm in adding one last incentive.

"Tristan, you know the answers to many of these questions. That, I'm certain of. And as for the few that you don't…see this as an opportunity to narrow down your studies so that you won't waste time boning up on material that you already have committed to memory."

Determination appeared in Tristan's features. "All right, ask away, Siegfried."

Siegfried smiled and patted Tristan's arm. "Good man." He paged through one of his books until he finally found what he was looking for. "Explain what you know about _porcine hemagglutinating encephalomyelitis_."

"Come on, Siegfried, why are you starting off with a question like that?"

"Because, right now, your mind hasn't had a chance to become clouded by the consumption of large amounts of alcohol. Thus, we shall start with the more complicated questions out of necessity. Now, come on. Answer the question."

Tristan eyed his drink for a second before furrowing his brow in thought.

"Um, _porcine hemagglutinating encephalomyelitis_ , um…well, it only shows up in pigs. Thus the name. And the sow can give immunity to the disease to her piglets…."

Siegfried listened and took notes. The answers Tristan was giving would probably satisfy any reasonable examiner, but it wouldn't do at all to assume that whoever it was would be reasonable. Thus, he decided to not only keep track of the answers and details his brother got right, but to note any important knowledge gaps or incorrect answers.

"….treatment is, um…wait, there is no treatment for _porcine hemagglutinating encephalomyelitis_."

Tristan finished with a hopeful look on his face. Siegfried smiled at him.

"Excellent." He nudged Tristan's beer toward him. "Have a drink. And not one of those overly generous ones you tend toward either or my funding of this exercise will cease here and now. I'm sure I've made myself clear."

"Quite clear, brother," Tristan smirked at him. He took a respectable swallow of bitter, but still left plenty in his glass. Siegfried gave him an approving nod and went back to flipping through his books.

"Right, now explain to me what you know about _leptospirosis_ and, specifically, how it affects farm animals."

* * *

This went on for another three hours. By the end of it, Tristan had only succeeded in prying almost three pints of bitter out of Siegfried. Not a very encouraging total given how many questions had been asked.

"What a rotten way to spend an evening," Tristan sulked. Siegfried gave him a sympathetic smile and nudged the rest of his current drink toward him.

"Not at all," he declared as he flipped through the notes he had made. "I believe we have discovered most if not all of the weak spots in your knowledge. So now, you'll know what you should be spending your time studying…that is, when you can tear yourself away from your social life."

Tristan gave him a glare, but gratefully snatched up the rest of his drink and gulped it down in one go.

Siegfried eyed him with reproach. "You'd enjoy those more if you took the time to savor them rather than guzzle them."

"Believe me, Siegfried, I enjoy them well enough." Tristan fished around his pockets and pulled out some coins. "So much so, I think I'll have another. Or two."

"Don't overdo it tonight, little brother," Siegfried warned him. "It's your turn to look after morning surgery tomorrow, and I have reason to believe that it will be a busy one…with certain clients who will require all of your faculties."

Tristan jumped up from his chair and fetched himself another pint of beer, apparently not hearing what his brother said. It wasn't until he had sat back down and had the glass halfway to his lips that Siegfried's words finally registered.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, as I was walking around Darrowby this morning, a couple of our neighbors mentioned wanting to bring in their pets for the usual checkups. And who should I run into along the way but Mr. Mulligan. Of course, he had Clancy with him, and one can hardly miss Clancy."

"Quite," Tristan said, scowling. "Don't tell me you told him to bring that beastly dog by the surgery tomorrow."

"I could hardly refuse him," Siegfried replied. "Especially when old Mulligan told me that he has some new ideas about what could be causing all of Clancy's 'womitting'. I want you to see if any of his ideas have merit."

Tristan frowned even more and swiftly drained his glass. He signaled for another refill, and Siegfried started to protest, but Tristan cut him off.

"If I have to put up with that hell-hound tomorrow, there's no way I'm staying sober enough to think about it tonight."

* * *

Over the next couple of months, Siegfried could not figure out when his brother found time for studying. It seemed as if Tristan had not given up his habits of idleness and mischief-making in the least.

However, the fact remained that there was a slow, but steady increase in the proportion of questions that Tristan got correct versus the ones he missed during their weekly quiz sessions. As a result, Siegfried began to adjust how many correct answers it would take to earn the same amount of beer.

Far from being disgruntled by the changes, his little brother seemed to take Siegfried's adjustments as a challenge to see if he could exceed Siegfried's expectations so he could get more beer than his brother may have intended him to have. A scheme that amused Siegfried greatly as he hadn't planned on Tristan reacting that way.

However, it soon reached a point where even Tristan's pride began to wear thin in the face of the increasing level of difficulty Siegfried had to resort to.

"Five correct answers in a row for one swallow of beer? Forget it, Siegfried. I can buy my own from now on."

"Come on, little brother, where is your competitive spirit?"

"Someplace where it can get a couple of pints without having to spend half the night begging for them."

Siegfried was about to respond, but then Tristan slumped down in his chair and ran his hands roughly through his hair, a worrying set of gestures in Siegfried's estimation.

"Look, Siegfried, I do appreciate what you've been trying to do. Honestly. And I promise, I'll keep swotting in my spare time, but…."

"But?"

Tristan let out a long sigh. "I want to pass. Really, I do. I'm going to try, but I…I keep thinking about the exams and about how I've tried before…and I just….."

Siegfried placed a hand on Tristan's forearm. "Tristan, I'm surprised at you. Did you honestly believe that I would go to all this trouble to address your issues with taking your exams and not see it through to the end? Have you ever known me to be that type of person?"

Tristan shuddered, but also managed to smirk at him. "No, I suppose not. But Siegfried, I…."

"Your preoccupation with pre-examination nerves means that the problem has not been solved yet. Granted, some nerves are understandable and can give you the needed energy to perform. But they are a dangerous hindrance when they set you up for defeat before you begin. And that is what we shall work on next."

Tristan's face fell. Siegfried could guess that his little brother was concerned about what he might have in mind. He chuckled and took a coin out of his pocket. Then he tapped the table to get Tristan's attention, tossed the coin up into the air, and let Tristan catch it.

"Cheer up, baby brother. Go ahead and have your pint while I plan the next stage of our campaign."

* * *

Two weeks later, the Drovers Arms was treated to an odd show indeed.

It wasn't the appearance of the Farnon brothers that was out of place. Both of them were well known regulars, especially Tristan. Not even the small stack of books sitting on the table next to Siegfried was so strange anymore. People who visited the Drovers even once in a while had become accustomed to Siegfried going over veterinary matters with Tristan over drinks.

However, this time, the patrons were in for something new.

Siegfried was sitting with his usual books, notepad and a glass of whiskey at his elbow while Tristan was standing in front of him, shuffling back and forth from one foot to the other.

"Siegfried, do I have to…?"

"Yes," Siegfried interrupted. "We need to recreate the conditions you'll face during your actual exams as closely as we can. It's the only way we can cure you of these anxieties you suffer from."

Tristan let out a sigh. "All right. But can't I have a pint first?"

"No!" Siegfried snapped. "Absolutely not. In fact, I want you to swear to me that you'll not have one drop of booze on the day of your exams until you have finished. Is that understood?"

Tristan rolled his eyes and fidgeted even more, but Siegfried ignored him. Instead, he calmly put on his glasses, set his pocket watch out onto the table, and scanned the book in front of him until he found what he was looking for.

"Now then, explain to me how a retinol deficiency can present itself in horses as well as the dangers of continued deficiency."

Tristan opened his mouth to repeat the question, but Siegfried was gratified to see him mouth it silently instead. Tristan did that for another few seconds before clearing his throat.

"Yes, a retinol deficiency in horses will cause dry skin, a discharge from the eyes, night blindness and scaly hooves."

Tristan paused and stared at Siegfried with questioning eyes.

"Very good," Siegfried said. "Please continue."

* * *

Over the next hour, the questioning continued on this way. At first, there was only the occasional curious glance. But soon, people began to watch as Siegfried continued his impromptu examination.

Once in a while, Tristan glanced around the pub and became aware that he was being watched. During those moments, he would start to stumble over his words. Nevertheless, he pushed on, even when it was clear that he was floundering with his answers.

As time went on, there was a change in the atmosphere at the Drovers. Conversations either ceased or where lowered to murmurs shared in tight circles in the corners of the pub. Beers were sipped slowly as both men and women sat in rapt attention while the suspense built up with each question. Would Tristan get this one right? Or would his memory fail him again? Carefully watching Tristan for any sort of tell did not help because he would fidget just as much before giving a correct answer as a wrong one. If an enterprising bookie had been in attendance that night, he could have created a lively betting pool.

Toward the end of the mock oral exam, Siegfried could tell that it was taking its toll on Tristan. His little brother had become even more restless and was babbling out his answers even when he clearly knew what he was talking about. There were a few soft-spoken words of encouragement given to Tristan from the other patrons which did bolster his flagging spirits briefly.

Still, Siegfried could tell that there was nothing more that could be gained by continuing at this point. He closed the books in front of him and placed some money onto the table.

"Go on and get us both a pint, there's a good fellow. And I shall evaluate your performance."

Tristan let out a huge sigh of relief as he picked up the money and then rushed over to the bar. He was met by more than one person who wanted to congratulate him on "giving a good showing" and putting "plenty of heart into it". His little brother seemed gratified by the well wishes, but Siegfried knew that Tristan would only be truly satisfied if he would have been able to pass his oral exam if this had been for real.

Siegfried read through his notes. He had been surprised by both questions Tristan had gotten wrong and the ones he had answered correctly. He would have to revise his suggestions for Tristan's study plans.

Meanwhile, Tristan placed Siegfried's pint onto the table closer to him and sat down to watch him. The rumble of praises and questions from the rest of the pub had died down while Tristan gulped down his drink and waited for the results. Several of the people in the pub moved their chairs closer so they could sit alongside Tristan and wait in anticipation to see if all that effort had paid off or not.

Soon, Siegfried finished with his notes and took of his glasses, putting them back into his pocket. He took a long sip of his beer before finally looking up at his brother.

"Well, little brother, I can safely say this. If this had been an actual exam…." He leaned in, mainly for effect. "…you would have passed with flying colors."

Tristan grinned and jumped up from his chair with a triumphant whoop. The men sitting around him also stood up and shook Tristan's hand or patted his back.

Siegfried watched this with a smile on his face, enjoying being able to watch his little brother savor his victory. Once the cheers had died down and the patrons went back to their own business, Tristan sat back down, a fond look in his eyes.

"Siegfried, you…I…I don't know how I can…."

Siegfried smiled at him again. "You're welcome, my dear brother." He patted Tristan's shoulder. "Now, we probably won't be doing this again too many more times, but I want you to remember this night, Tristan. Remember how you were able to accomplish this and how it felt when you did."

"I will," Tristan said with a nod. The solemn tone in his voice told Siegfried that he meant it.

Siegfried looked down to see that Tristan's glass was empty. "Would you like another, little brother? I'm paying."

Tristan looked down into his glass for a moment and let out a short laugh before raising his head. "Actually, I believe I'm good for the night. I think I'll head for home."

"All right," Siegfried said, finishing what was in his glass. He gathered up his books and walked alongside Tristan out of the pub. Once they were outside, Siegfried took a deep breath, enjoying the crisp night air.

"Actually, Siegfried, I think I'll go for a walk first. I, well, I have some things I'd like to think about, if you don't mind."

"No, not at all," Siegfried said, giving his shoulder another pat. "But don't stay out too late. There's sure to be plenty to do tomorrow."

"I won't. Good night, Siegfried." He gave Siegfried a wave before jamming his hands into his pockets and walking off.

Siegfried watched him walk away. He wondered what Tristan would be thinking about, and then decided that there was no way to know for sure because his brother did indeed have plenty to consider. And he would need to contemplate it on his own.

"Good night, little brother," he murmured.

Then Siegfried began walking back toward Skeldale, making a mental note to check Tristan's room later that night to make sure he got back safely.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Six

 **Author's Note** : This chapter takes place during the episode _A Dying Breed_ (Episode 3.08).

* * *

It had been inevitable.

Tristan could not understand why he hadn't realized that before. How he hadn't foreseen that a time might come when he and Siegfried could no longer live together. Now that it finally had happened, he was in shock. Maybe because he simply wanted to believe that this moment would never come.

As that thought began to sink in, a tight, miserable feeling pressed on his heart. A feeling that erased his smiles, his confidence, and his carefree belief that things could be smoothed over with a few strategic words or placating gestures.

Worst of all, it had been entirely his own fault.

Fully dressed, Tristan sat on the edge of his bed, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him. For perhaps the hundredth time that morning, he cursed Miss Westerman. That difficult shrew had a way of making everyone at the practice feel nervous and frustrated. At least, that's how Tristan felt around her, although he was sure that Siegfried and James had similar if not identical feelings.

After that debacle where he had lost Hamish while the poor dog was recovering from his surgery, Tristan had thought that she would continue to make his life a misery as long as she continued to take her dog to their practice. Still, even though he did not look forward to interacting with her again, Tristan still held onto his usual optimism. When he went into the surgery to check on Hamish's ear, he made sure to wear his most ingratiating smile, turned on his usual Farnon charm and hoped for the best.

He had been so convinced that it would be impossible to sway her opinion of him, it came as a complete surprise when she transitioned from looking at him as if she was sizing him up for the chop to actually treating him with some respect and admiration. Part of it surely had to be due to luck, but Tristan firmly believed that a larger part of it was skill. The skill he had developed after a childhood spent visiting elderly people on farms and in cottages while accompanying Siegfried on his rounds.

By the time he had finished his exam and she was walking toward the door, Tristan was feeling enormously pleased with himself. That satisfaction seeped into his tone as he fantasized about what it would be like if he were the one running the practice instead of Siegfried.

" _So why don't you?"_

" _Why don't I what?"_

" _Set up on your own?"_

Tristan ground his jaw and pounded a fist into the mattress. He should have stopped it there. He should have explained to her that he enjoyed working with Siegfried and James. He should have made it clear that he had no intention of leaving his friends and his brother behind to set up shop somewhere else. Especially after everything Siegfried had done for him.

Instead, in that moment, all Tristan could think about was how smug Siegfried had been when his elder brother had told him that Miss Westerman had found out about Hamish getting loose and how Siegfried had indirectly ruined his chances with Lydia. Those thoughts were more than enough to stir up the frustration and indignation Tristan sometimes felt toward Siegfried.

Once those feelings took hold, it was easy for Tristan to play the part of the gifted near-vet who was constantly hamstrung by the tyranny of his older, conservative brother. The perfect finishing touch had been his noble declaration that he was staying pat for the sake of his poor brother who needed him.

Thankfully, that turned out to be just the right detail to cement the change in Miss Westerman's view of him. She left the surgery praising his character, and once she was gone, Tristan heaved a huge sigh of relief.

All of it had been off-the-cuff remarks, not anything meant to be taken seriously. Just a little jest at Siegfried's expense which was something to be said and then forgotten. At least, Tristan had no problems forgetting about it anyway.

Unfortunately, Miss Westerman had not forgotten. And soon, many of the old ladies in Darrowby had a new rumor to spread through their ranks: the possibility that Tristan Farnon would soon have a practice of his own. That is, once his brother, Siegfried could handle his own practice without Tristan's invaluable assistance.

And of course, it was this juicy rumor that eventually reached Siegfried's ears.

"Idiot," Tristan cursed at himself. "Stupid fool. Stupid, bloody fool."

Tristan punched the bed again. Why had he done it? Why had he let that dumb joke go so far? Of course Miss Westerman hadn't seen it as a joke. Tristan doubted that she could find anything amusing. Even worse, she had embellished what he had said until it sounded like an absolute certainty.

He leaned forward, running his hands through his hair. Helen had knocked on his door an hour ago with a message that had filled him with dread.

" _Tris? Siegfried was hoping to have a word with you before morning surgery."_

Tristan let his hands slide off his head and fall limply onto the bed. Helen hadn't said what it was that Siegfried wanted to talk about, but he was convinced that he already knew.

Especially after what had happened yesterday.

At first, Tristan had thought that Siegfried and James were going to give him a little grief over some blunder he must have made recently. The mention of Mrs. Beck certainly gave credence to that theory, although he did think that James was being a little unfair. Honestly, how could anyone just look at Mrs. Beck and know that she owned a fat, furry demon masquerading as a cat? Or that she was far from an impoverished widow? And maybe ten bob was rather overly generous, but so what? There was always the chance that the praise Mrs. Beck was sure to give them for doing her such a lovely favor would lead to increased business. That would more than make up for the loss they were taking on this job.

It wasn't long though, before Tristan suspected that something else was afoot. His suspicions were confirmed when Siegfried mentioned the "bother" of setting up his own practice.

It was then that his suspicions shifted into sickening worry. Did Siegfried actually believe that he intended to set up a practice of his own to compete with the one at Skeldale? Tristan frantically searched his mind for anything he could have said or done that would have given his elder brother that impression. Eventually, he did recall his little joke with Miss Westerman, but it seemed absurd. It was such a tiny little jest. How could it have spiraled out of control so badly?

Tristan raised his head, his entire body becoming tense as he remembered how he had tried to assure Siegfried that he would never do that to him. Unfortunately, it had all come out in a stream of unconvincing gibberish.

By that point, the situation became clear to him. This was no simple chiding over some error he had made or one of Siegfried's typical rants over his supposed lazy and feckless approach to life. It wasn't even the sort of anger that spontaneously rose up in response to some fleeting irritation. This was something far more serious.

Even though he hadn't been looking forward to it, Tristan wished Siegfried would just get to the part where he punished him by giving him some unpleasant jobs to do: stitching up some bad-tempered horse, turberculin testing on Handshaw's entire herd of cows, inoculations for every pig on Dent's farm. Anything to put an end to this horrible misunderstanding. He wouldn't even put up one complaint if it meant that Siegfried would forget about this idea.

Then came the moment when that desperate hope was dashed.

" _Do you not think loyalty serious?"_

" _Do you?!"_

Tristan slumped down, a lump forming in his throat. He doubted that James saw it. James probably just thought that Siegfried was angry again and that it had blown over suddenly for some mysterious reason. But Tristan knew that that wasn't the case. The fact that Siegfried didn't give him even a slightly tedious chore was evidence of that.

No, Tristan had seen the truth of it in his brother's eyes. Siegfried wasn't just angry. He was hurt. Hurt by the realization that he had spent years funding his little brother's education and mentoring him throughout veterinary college only to discover that his brother was using him as part of a scheme to get a practice of his own. With said brother professing all along that he wanted to join his practice no less.

The tightness in Tristan's throat increased. Sure, he often teased Siegfried and sometimes would purposely find ways to annoy him. He was plenty willing to argue with or rebel against him if he thought that Siegfried was wrong about something. Usually something related to him. However, all that bickering and mocking never really meant anything. The fact was, Siegfried was the very last person in the world that Tristan would ever want to hurt. Not because of any repercussions that could come with it. Well…partially that, but that was far from the sole reason.

After Father died, Siegfried made a commitment to look after him. Granted, it was only sporadically while he was studying to be a vet, but then he cemented that responsibility by having Tristan move in with him, a momentous decision that he didn't actually have to make.

Tristan swallowed hard. He was aware that his elder brother could have just left him with Mother and their cousins Nellie and Jack. He wouldn't have been even remotely happy due to Jack's near constant derision and mistreatment, but he still would have had a comfortable home, a good education and would have wanted for nothing he needed to survive and grow into adulthood.

Instead, Siegfried took him in. Not because Tristan needed a place to live, but because Siegfried loved him and wanted far more than survival for his younger brother. Siegfried had wanted him to be happy. To feel valued and to be guided toward success in life.

Tristan felt his stomach lurch. He was glad that he had skipped breakfast, and not just because he was fairly certain at the moment that he wouldn't be able to keep anything down.

After that confrontation in the living room, he had found some extra visits to attend to and spent as much time as he could on them. He was finished by dinner time, but dreaded the prospect of sitting at the same table as Siegfried. Instead, he made a quick apology to Mrs. Hall and snuck out to the Drovers for the rest of the evening and well into the night.

Unfortunately, his troubled mind and heart made it impossible for him to enjoy anything they had to offer either. So he made do with a half a cheese sandwich and several pints of beer which he'd nursed by himself in a corner of the pub. He managed to sneak back into the house after Siegfried went to bed, and the lack of any early morning calls made it so he could stay in his room all morning.

Now, however, there was no more dodging this. He'd have to face Siegfried and whatever repercussions lie in store for him.

He could no longer pretend that their relationship could be mended.

Tristan's eyes welled up. Things had been volatile between them for a while, but he'd been able to casually dismiss the idea that there were any real problems. It had started as Tristan grew into a puckish teenager and then a carefree adult. That along with Siegfried always having had an explosive temperament meant that there had been plenty of potential for flare ups for years.

Also, if he was honest with himself, Tristan would have to admit that he was responsible for at least some of his elder brother's outbursts. It couldn't be easy to keep throwing so much money at someone's education which never seemed to end. He also doubted that many other vets who owned their own practices would be willing to put up with an assistant who made so many blunders.

Still, Tristan had persisted in his belief that none of Siegfried's yelling and threats had been serious. It was just the expected friction between siblings who had been in each other's hair for years. Which made the fact that Siegfried had been so easily convinced that his younger brother would betray him all the more disturbing.

' _Maybe we just can't hit it off anymore,'_ he mused. _'Maybe…maybe it would be better if Siegfried sacks me for real this time.'_

Tristan took in a shaky breath. He wasn't sure where he could go if Siegfried threw him out of Skeldale. He had little in the way of savings and he wasn't qualified to make a living as a vet elsewhere. He might be able to stay with friends in Edinburgh for a while, but he would need to find a job quickly. Something he could live on and still be able to put aside money to help him finish his education.

Although, the more he thought about it, the more hopeless that idea seemed. Veterinary college was expensive and jobs were scarce. Especially jobs that paid well enough to make a living and pay for something like that. The fact was, Siegfried had given him plenty of chances to become and vet and he had blown all of them. In all likelihood, he would never get another chance to become qualified.

Of course, there was the option of moving back to Brawton to stay with Mother while he finished his education. Not that Tristan considered that a viable choice. While he was sure that Mother would be happy to give him a place to stay, it would also mean facing Jack and enduring his ill-treatment again. Granted, as a full grown adult, Tristan no longer had to worry about what could happen if Jack's temper got out of control. Then again, Jack never did need to use his hands to hurt him. No, Tristan knew he could never go back to that existence again. He'd rather starve on the streets.

Then again, he could also sign up. If there was to be a war, they'd need plenty of young men for the fighting.

Tristan ran his hands through his hair again. He always told other people that he was a coward even though he supposed he wasn't one really. He'd be willing to do his part for queen and country if he needed to, but he still didn't like the idea of actual fighting. Of shooting and killing. Because that's what it always came down to. People hurting each other because they had to.

His eyes burned, and Tristan scrubbed at them. All he wanted was for things to go back to normal. To keep on caring for animals as well as doing all the meaningless chores Siegfried came up with for him. To squeeze in sessions of swotting between jovial nights at the Drovers or on dates. To wake up each day knowing that he'd spend it with James and Helen and Mrs. Hall and yes, with Siegfried as well.

All he wanted was for life to continue on as it had been.

Tristan stood up and glanced at himself in the mirror. He needed a shave and his hair could do with some combing before he went downstairs. Might as well look presentable while his world was falling apart.

He grabbed his things and trudged to the bathroom, relieved that he didn't run into anyone along the way.

As he shaved, he was surprised at how calm he felt all of the sudden. It took a while, all the way up until he had finished and was rinsing off to figure out that it wasn't calm that he felt. He was numb. His heart was already resigned to the grief he'd soon feel and his mind was just now catching up to it.

Tristan slipped back into his bedroom to drop off his things and look himself over a couple more times before marching down the stairs. He had almost made it to the living room when Helen appeared in the hall. Her eyes were warm and sympathetic as she passed by him. She gave him a gentle pat on the arm as she walked away toward the kitchen.

That caring gesture almost made him go over the edge right there. Helen was so wonderful. What would he do without her? Or without James who had become his best friend? Or Siegfried who, for all his flaws, would always be his closest family?

Tristan paused for a second to gather up what little courage he had left before walking into the living room.

His heart sank even more when he finally saw Siegfried. Even though his elder brother was trying to be civil with his greeting and his pouring out a cup of coffee for him, Tristan could see the strain Siegfried was under. It if hadn't been clear before, it was obvious now that Siegfried had been badly wounded by his cavalier behavior.

Tristan sank down onto the couch, his breaths hitching as he struggled to maintain control. Up to this point, there had still been a tiny sliver of hope that one more desperate effort to apologize could make things right. But now, Tristan didn't have the heart for it. Siegfried had been hurt enough. The only kind thing to do at this point was to beg for forgiveness for the last time and then make a clean break.

Tristan gripped the edges of the saucer in his hands. He wasn't sure what he would do once this was over. However, that no longer seemed to matter much at all.

Not compared to what he was about to lose.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Four

 **Author's Note:** These next three chapters take place shortly before James joined the practice. They are based from the episode _The Name of the Game_ (Episode 2.09) where Siegfried mentioned that Tristan had played in a previous cricket match against Tagger Hird and was "nearly killed" during the game.

Not only did I imagine that that was probably pretty traumatic at the time; I also wondered why Siegfried would try to push Tristan into a rematch after something like that happened to him...thus, this set of chapters came to me...

And yes, I know that the time line is a little wonky here (they say it happened last year...but James was already working for them by then and yet he doesn't seem to know about any of this...?), but I'm going ahead and setting this just before the start of the series.

* * *

"You should know that I plan on getting even with you, Siegfried."

"Even? Over a cricket match? My dear Tristan, don't dramatize."

"Dramatize? Tagger Hird is bowling next. I saw the bruises he gave Tom Clarke last year," Tristan said, frowning. "That man is a menace, Siegfried. Always has been. He just uses cricket as an excuse to cause someone an injury."

"Nonsense, my dear boy. Absolute rubbish." Siegfried patted his brother's shoulder heartily. "Tagger Hird can't very well help it if so many people miss his bowls. Or if they set themselves up for an injury by getting into the incorrect batting positions. And I happen to know for a fact that he always apologizes when one of his bowls strikes another player. Hardly the actions of an uncivilized brute."

"Keeping up appearances more like," Tristan said, his scowl deepening.

A shout from the field indicated that hit was Tristan's turn to bat, causing his shoulders to slump down as he let out a frustrated huff.

Siegfried patted his shoulder again. "Come on then, little brother. This is no time to be cowardly. We mustn't let the side down."

Tristan glared at him and then sighed. "Oh all right. But mark my words, Siegfried, that maniac is going to kill someone one of these days. Maybe even me."

Siegfried laughed as he watched his brother head out onto the field. He walked back over to the spectator's area and fetched himself a half pint before sitting down.

The game was actually turning out to be an interesting one this year. Granted, Tristan's team probably still wouldn't win, especially with Hird bowling now, but they did put up a much more respectable fight than usual this time.

As he sipped at his beer, Siegfried continued to watch Tristan prepare to bat. He wasn't entirely unsympathetic to his little brother's complaints. He could still remember the collections of bruises he had received in previous years whenever he'd allowed Blenkinsopp to persuade him to help out the local cricket team. The year before this one, he'd gotten a bruise on his thigh that made him walk with a bowlegged limp for a week.

Thus, when the parson came around this year, Siegfried decided it was time for him to retire from this amateur pursuit and have his little brother pick up the tradition instead.

At first, Tristan had been intrigued and excited about the match. However, after a couple of talks with the regulars at the Drovers who had participated in more than one match in the past, his enthusiasm vanished. In fact, the entire week before the match was filled with various attempts to weasel his way out of it.

Despite those efforts, some of which Siegfried secretly admired for their creativity, Siegfried made sure to that Tristan showed up on the day of the match, even going as far as driving him to the field himself. The way he saw it, a couple of bruises were a small price for Tristan to pay in order to learn the importance of keeping one's word.

Tristan delayed going to bat as long as he could, but was eventually forced to trudge over to his place on the field. Siegfried clapped and took another swig of his beer. He knew that Tristan had some familiarity with the game having played it as a boy while attending school in Brawton when he was still living with Mother. However, Siegfried had never had a chance to see his baby brother play until now. Tristan's field skills were adequate, but not inspiring so he hoped that his brother would prove himself at bat.

"Come on, Tristan," he shouted. "Step right up there, there's a good fellow."

Tristan paused to glare at him again before stepping into position. Siegfried chuckled, unperturbed by his little brother's sour expression.

Meanwhile Tagger Hird stared at Tristan as if he was an enemy solider to be mowed down. He rushed forward, flinging the cricket ball with as much power as he could muster.

Tristan started to swing, but hesitated at the last second which left his torso wide open. The ball ended up hitting him at full force near the center of his chest. His mouth fell open to cry out, but there was no sound. Instead, he collapsed flaccidly to the freshly pressed grass.

Siegfried let out a long sigh and shook his head. Leave it to Tristan to get knocked down on the first bowl. If it wasn't readily apparent before, he was now convinced that his baby brother was no athlete.

Play had stopped and several of the men had gathered around Tristan who had not gotten up yet. A moment later, one of them turned toward Siegfried.

"Mr. Farnon…he's not moving."

Those words sent a chill through Siegfried. He dropped his drink and scrambled from his chair, dashing across the field. He pushed his way through the men who were huddled together and dropped to his knees beside his brother.

"Tristan?" he said, taking hold of Tristan's shoulder and shaking it. "Tristan? Tristan, my dear boy, are you all right?"

Tristan remained silent and still. His face was still contorted in pain although his features had gone slack and had taken on an awful pallor. Siegfried shook his shoulder again, harder this time, but still could not get any response.

Then he was horrified to discover that Tristan did not appear to be breathing.

"Tristan…."

Siegfried's voice sounded oddly small and far away to him. He also thought he heard someone yell for a doctor, but he couldn't be sure due to the sudden roar of his heart pounding in his ears.

Suddenly, he snapped into action. He pressed his fingers to Tristan's neck, searching frantically for a pulse. After finding a sluggish heartbeat, he scooted over to kneel behind Tristan's head and flipped him onto his back. Then Siegfried pulled Tristan's arms out and over his head rhythmically in an attempt to resuscitate him. Tristan must have gotten the wind knocked out of him. That's all it was. He just needed a little assistance to start breathing normally again.

Siegfried continued to work silently, his focus solely on Tristan. The crowd around him and their babbled conversations had all but disappeared from his awareness. At one point, someone told him that a doctor was coming, and Siegfried made the necessary noises to indicate that he understood although he didn't really. Giving a coherent reply would have required him to take his attention away from Tristan, and at that moment, Siegfried was not willing to give even a fraction of his concentration to anything else.

The only things that did reach his conscious mind were that it had somehow gotten very cold all the sudden and that Tristan didn't appear to be responding to his efforts.

He leaned close to his brother, putting an ear near Tristan's mouth and a flattened palm near his diaphragm. There was still no movement, no tickle of breath coming from Tristan's lips. Siegfried's jaw tightened, a frown appearing on his face as he sat up and put more vigor into his ministrations.

' _Come on, little brother. Stop lying about. It's time for you to wake up now.'_

Then, out of the blue, it struck Siegfried how absurd all of this was. It was just a game. A harmless cricket match, for Heaven's sake, not the battle trenches of the Great War. A moment ago, his biggest concerns had been whether or not Tristan was going to embarrass him with his poor batting skills and if his little brother was going to spend the evening whining about any bruises he got during the match.

It was just a silly game. So how could it have come to this? Where he didn't know if his little brother would…if he would never…."

Siegfried paused, his entire body shuddering at the thought. Then, with a determined shake of his head, he resumed his efforts to revive Tristan although doubt was beginning to settle in as his movements became less confident. Tristan still had not stirred and a grey tinge had appeared on his face.

Desperate frustration soon took hold of Siegfried. He double-checked to make sure Tristan's airway was clear, blew into his mouth a couple times, checked his pulse again, and intensified his efforts to resuscitate him, but nothing appeared to be working.

"Mr. Farnon?"

Siegfried had barely heard it, but he had recognized the voice. It was Hugh Morgan, a shepherd with chestnut brown hair and a large beard who worked on one of the farms just outside Darrowby.

"Mr. Farnon...there's nowt anyone can do." A hand was placed onto Siegfried's shoulder. "Look at 'im. He's not going to…."

Siegfried yanked his shoulder away. "He's not dead!" he snapped. His voice came out in a low growl, but it was also strained through the lump that was forming in his throat. "His heart is still beating. He just needs help with his breathing. Go on, get out of my way!"

Morgan backed away, and Siegfried went back to raising and lowering Tristan's arms, his hands starting to shake.

' _Tristan, come on now. Come on, little brother. Wake up.'_

Soon, Siegfried's vision grew watery, blurring as he struggled to keep his movements and his breathing under control.

' _Tristan, please. Come back.'_

' _Please….'_

Suddenly, Tristan gasped, a dreadful wheeze coming from deep in his chest. Siegfried let his arms down and rolled his brother onto his side so he could breathe easier. Then, Siegfried crawled around so he was kneeling alongside Tristan again. He almost fell face first onto the lawn as he did it, his body releasing all of its tension at once and leaving him quaking.

"Oh thank Heaven," he murmured. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, silently offering a brief prayer of gratitude before returning his gaze to his brother. Only a couple of minutes had gone by since Tristan had been hit, but Siegfried felt as if he had just aged several years.

"Must have gotten the wind knocked clean out of him," Morgan nodded sagely as he watched Tristan struggle to pull in deep breaths.

Tristan let out a couple more labored coughs before rolling onto his back again and opening his eyes.

"Siegfried?"

Siegfried smiled, blinking rapidly. "Yes, little brother, I'm here." He brushed aside a stray lock of hair off Tristan's forehead. "How do you feel?"

Tristan frowned and let out a loud groan, clutching at his chest. "I, I don't…I don't feel well at all, Siegfried."

Siegfried nodded and took one of Tristan's hands into his. He imagined that Tristan was in a great deal of pain and even though he was sorry that his little brother was in agony that regret could not eclipse the immense relief he felt that Tristan was still with him.

"Excuse me, I understand there's a man hurt here."

Siegfried looked up to see a stout man with owlish eyes and an unruly mop of salt and pepper hair standing in front of him. He wore a light grey suit that was rumpled, but also clean and expertly tailored.

"I'm Doctor Elliot Witherspoon," the man continued. "I take it this is the young man who was injured."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Five

 **Author's Note:** This chapter continues the story which started in the previous chapter.

* * *

Siegfried studied the man in front of him. Despite his rather untidy appearance, he could detect a gleam of intelligence in those huge eyes. He nodded and motioned at Tristan. "Yes, yes, he was hit in the chest with a cricket ball."

Witherspoon's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I see. Well, let's have a look at him." The doctor knelt down on the ground and placed his bag beside him. Then he frowned at the crowd that was still in a tight circle around him. "You lot need to move back and give us room." He nodded at Siegfried. "You too. Well, come on, man, don't hover about."

Siegfried gave Witherspoon a thunderous glare and was about to speak when Morgan tapped the doctor's shoulder.

"It's all right, Doc," he said as he pointed at Siegfried. "That's young Mr. Farnon's brother. Looked after him since he was but a lad. He's also the local veterinary in Darrowby, and he just saved his brother's life, he did."

"I see," Witherspoon repeated. "Oh all right, fine. But do give me a little more room, there's a good fellow."

Siegfried continued to scowl at him, but held his tongue while he moved over to sit closer to Tristan's head.

"Siegfried?" Tristan said, his voice weak and confused. Siegfried clasped Tristan's hand and rubbed the back of it.

"I'm still here, Tristan. It'll be all right. Just relax."

Witherspoon's eyebrows went up again, mostly likely in response to the interesting names he'd just heard, but he chose not to comment. He pushed Tristan's jumper up and unbuttoned the shirt underneath so he could examine the ugly red mark where the cricket ball had struck. Siegfried flinched at the sight of the darkening welt.

Then he took out his stethoscope and listened to Tristan's chest for several moments, nodding as he moved it around.

"Well, you were lucky, young man," Witherspoon said as he slipped the stethoscope back down his neck and into his pocket. "An inch or so higher and it would have hit you straight in the heart. And if it had…well, I doubt that there would have been much anyone could have done for you. Aside from giving the last rites."

"But will he be all right?" Siegfried asked, anxiety creeping back into his voice.

"Oh yes, though I'd wager that he'll be a mite sore for quite a while," Witherspoon replied. "That's going to turn into an awful bruise and it'll smart terribly. I'd let him rest for the remainder of the week and then light work for the week after that. Though, if he becomes short of breath or faints at any point, take him to the hospital at once."

"I understand," Siegfried said, his grip on his brother's hand tightening.

"Yes, now I'll give you something to give him for the pain. I understand you are a vet?" Siegfried nodded. "Then you know something about giving injections. I'm going to give you some morphine to give him for the first day or so and I'll give you a script for the chemist for some pills. Oh and I think it'd be best for him to avoid alcohol for the next day or two. Just to be safe."

Tristan let out a whine of protest, but Siegfried hushed him with a nudge to the shoulder.

"The best thing now would be to get him home and into bed," Witherspoon continued as he got back up to his feet. "You probably should have your own doctor look in on him in the next couple of days. Well, I'm off."

"Thank you, Dr. Witherspoon," Siegfried said. Then he looked back down at Tristan. "Come on, little brother. Let's go home."

Tristan nodded and groaned more than once as Siegfried helped him sit up and then slowly rise to his feet. Once he was standing, he leaned heavily against Siegfried with Siegfried silently encouraging him to sling one arm across his shoulders for support. Then he put an arm around Tristan's waist and started to guide him toward the car.

They had only taken a couple of steps before they were met by Tagger Hird.

"Sorry," he said, his tone clipped. "About what happened."

Tristan tried to smile, but didn't say a word. Meanwhile, it took Siegfried several seconds to find his voice.

"Perfectly all right," he said in what he hoped sounded like a casual tone. "It was an accident after all. And no harm done."

Tristan's smile vanished, but Siegfried gave a warning squeeze to side to stop him from responding. Apparently, his little brother got the message because Tristan remained silent while attempting another half-hearted smile.

Siegfried nodded at Hird once more before continuing the trek toward the car with Tristan in tow. As they got closer, a respectful, muted applause rippled through the crowd. True to his nature, Tristan made sure to give them a suitably dramatic wave before allowing Siegfried to help him into the passenger seat.

Once they had taken off down the road, Tristan slumped down and gingerly rubbed his chest.

"I don't think I shall ever move again," he moaned.

"Oh quit whining," Siegfried grumbled back at him. "And it was your own fault anyway."

"Mine?!"

"Yes, I told you to get your body right behind the ball, and you didn't listen to me. You froze at the crucial moment, and look what happened. I don't know why I bother giving you advice when you never listen."

"I only wish I hadn't listened to you in the first place," Tristan said, frowning. "Then I wouldn't have ended up in the crosshairs of that demon, Tagger Hird. I told you he would kill someone, and he almost did."

Siegfried tightened his grip on the wheel. Images of Tristan lying on the ground, lifeless, flashed through his mind. What if that ball had struck a little higher? What if he hadn't been there to take care of his brother when the accident happened? Or what if he had failed to resuscitate Tristan? He could have lost his little brother then and there so easily.

"Siegfried! Watch out!"

Siegfried blinked and suddenly saw a farmer trying to lead his cow across the road. He swerved to the right, narrowly missing both of them, and let the car roll to a stop. Then he looked over at Tristan and frowned when he saw his little brother eyeing him with panicked disapproval.

"Oh come on, brother, how many times do I have to tell you that I'm perfectly capable of handling this machine?" Siegfried scolded. "Honestly, I don't know why you get so worked up over the most trifling of traffic incidents. Especially considering your own abominable driving habits."

"Me? Siegfried, you're the one who just…."

Tristan's response was cut off by another groan as he leaned back in his seat. Siegfried frowned and steered the car back onto the road. Once he was there, he gave Tristan's shoulder another gentle pat.

"Quiet now, little brother. You're supposed to be resting. We'll get you settled into the bed, and I'll have Mrs. Hall bring your dinner up to you."

* * *

Later that evening, Siegfried sat by the fire, attempting to read the magazine on his lap.

His latest assistant, a capable young man named Sean O'Malley, had volunteered to take over the nighttime call-outs so Siegfried could keep an eye on Tristan, leaving Siegfried with just evening surgery to contend with.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Hall had fretted over Tristan in her usual reserved way. Not only had she brought up a tray of food for him and fussed over his pillows and blankets, but she had even whipped up some treacle tarts, Tristan's favorite dessert, as an added treat for him.

Siegfried had checked on Tristan briefly before attending to evening surgery and attempting to tackle the mountain of paperwork that was building up and which had continued to vex him. A couple of times, Siegfried had been tempted to ask O'Malley to assist him with some of it, but Siegfried was aware that his assistant was already busy enough with all the farm visits he had to take care of.

In the back of his mind, Siegfried also wrestled with the nagging thought that O'Malley would soon be leaving the practice to move overseas so he could re-join his parents who had moved a year ago. It meant that he would have to look for a new assistant again, a chore Siegfried was not looking forward to given his disappointments in the past.

Thankfully, a mostly quiet surgery gave him the chance to make a good-sized dent in the paperwork, but still add a decent amount of funds to the practice's coffers. Afterwards, he checked on Tristan again, and upon finding his little brother slumbering, decided to leave him alone so he could rest.

That night, Siegfried had tried listening to the wireless and getting in some reading. But after reading the same paragraph four times, he finally conceded defeat and tossed the magazine onto a stand beside his chair.

He had just started to think about getting himself a drink when footsteps in the hall caught his attention. A moment later, Siegfried was startled to see Tristan, clad in his pajamas and robe, trudge into the room.

Siegfried rose to his feet to meet him. "Tristan? What's wrong? I thought you were in bed."

"Couldn't sleep," Tristan mumbled. "Chest hurts too much."

Siegfried nodded, noting the sheen of sweat on his little brother's brow and the pinched features on his face. He took Tristan by the arm and guided him over to the couch. Then he gently nudged Tristan to lie down and knelt down beside him. Siegfried reached over to open Tristan's robe and unbutton the pajama top so he could get another look at the welt his brother had gotten.

Tristan hissed through clenched teeth when one of Siegfried's fingers brushed too close to his chest, and he tried to swat his elder brother's hands away.

"Now, don't fuss, little brother, don't fuss," Siegfried said soothingly. "I'm just going to take a look, there's a good fellow." He gingerly moved Tristan's shirt aside and winced when he saw the bruise underneath. It had darkened considerably with the dark purple and black smudges forming a mark that was the size of a man's fist.

"Yes, that is nasty," Siegfried said as he redid the buttons. "I'm sure it still hurts. Just lie here and relax and I'll give you some morphine."

Tristan nodded, still gasping occasionally as he lay there. Siegfried left the room and soon returned with a pillow in one hand and a bag with the things he needed in the other. Then he crouched down next to the couch again.

"There you are, my boy," he said as he eased the pillow behind Tristan's head and shoulders. "Now, roll up your sleeve."

Tristan obeyed, and Siegfried swabbed his arm with some iodine before measuring out the dose in the syringe and injecting it. After he was finished, Tristan pushed his sleeve back down and rolled onto his side, wincing as he did so.

"Right, let's get you back into bed," Siegfried said as he put his supplies back into his bag.

Tristan frowned. "Do we have to just yet?" he whined. "It still hurts and going up those stairs…. Well, couldn't we wait a little bit?"

Siegfried let out a sigh of exasperation, but still managed to smile. "All right. You just relax and give that time to work. Now, are you sure you're comfortable?"

"Yes, quite," Tristan said, a yawn punctuating his words.

"Good, good," Siegfried said. He stood up and sat his bag on the stand near the doorway. Then, he maneuvered the chair next to the fire toward the couch so he could keep an eye on Tristan once he sat down. Then he picked up a book from one of the shelves and glanced through it in an attempt to get interested in reading again.

"Siegfried?"

"Yes, Tristan?"

"Do you know who won? The match, I mean."

Siegfried could hardly believe his ears. Of all the things for his brother to think about right now….

"Oh um, I'm not sure," he answered, scratching at his ear. "However, when Morgan stopped by to ask about you, he did have a decidedly gloomy demeanor. So I think it's safe to assume that the results were not favorable."

"Of all the rotten luck," Tristan frowned. "After what I went through, the least they could have done was win the match."

"Valiant efforts to avenge a fallen teammate aside, the opposition still had Tagger Hird to fall back on."

"Yes, that devil," Tristan said, frowning even more.

"Now, Tristan, he did apologize," Siegfried chided.

"Hardly an apology for almost killing me," Tristan said. "He probably only did it so he could stay on the team and try to murder someone next year. I told you that man is a menace, Siegfried."

Tristan yawned again, his eyelids drooping. Siegfried figured that the morphine was starting to take effect and that it wouldn't be long before his brother became even drowsier. He knew that he really should be trying to get Tristan up and moving back to his bedroom. Still, Siegfried was reluctant to disturb his little brother when he saw how the lines of pain on Tristan's face were finally starting to fade.

"Siegfried."

"Yes, Tristan? What is it?"

"Don't tell Mother," Tristan said, his words starting to slur. "About…well, you know. She'll just get upset, and…and she….."

Tristan mumbled something else, but Siegfried couldn't decipher it. He watched as Tristan's head lolled to the side as sleep finally overtook him. A few seconds later, Siegfried was certain that his little brother was well and truly out.

Siegfried shook his head. He was certain that Mother would hear all about the actual injury from Tristan. His brother never passed up an opportunity to be pampered and fussed over which Mother was sure to do once she heard about it. No, he was sure what Tristan meant was to keep silent about the other part of it.

The part where he'd almost died.

Siegfried sighed. He appreciated this show of thoughtfulness from his little brother because he still remembered how devastated Mother had been when Father passed away. And as terrible as that loss had been, he knew that losing Tristan as well, and especially in such a senseless way, would shatter her.

Siegfried stood up and crept over to the couch to look down at Tristan. His little brother's breathing had slowed and evened out, but it was still too shallow for Siegfried's liking. Even while fast asleep and under the influence of morphine, Tristan was still suffering. That thought made his own chest ache.

He walked out of the room again, taking his bag back to the surgery and returning with a blanket to drape over Tristan's slumbering form. His brother stirred as it was placed onto him, but didn't open his eyes.

"Siegfried?"

Siegfried immediately crouched down beside him again. "Hush now, Tristan," he whispered as he gently tousled his little brother's hair. "Go back to sleep."

Tristan quickly dropped off again into a deeper slumber. Siegfried rose and went over to dim the lights in the room, fully intending on going to bed and leaving his brother alone so he could rest. But at the last moment, he was drawn back to the chair by the fire.

Back to where he could watch over Tristan while he slept.

Siegfried let out a long sigh. Doubtless, he wouldn't get a good night's sleep and would wake up tomorrow morning with a sore neck and shoulders. Still, that was far preferable to spending a night in bed, trying to sleep without the sight of Tristan peacefully resting to banish the awful memories of that afternoon from his mind.

Then, it suddenly occurred to Siegfried that he wasn't sure if he should be allowed to stop thinking about what had happened. He'd been cavalier in his decision to push Tristan into that match and it had almost cost him his little brother. How could he ever justify putting Tristan into such peril?

A grim expression appeared on Siegfried's face. From this moment on, he would stop taking chances with Tristan's life. He would not permit any more risk than what was absolutely necessary and would remain vigilant in his quest to minimize potential hazards to his little brother's wellbeing. Of course, Siegfried imagined that there might be some dissent from Tristan over this matter, but the possibility of earning his baby brother's indignation would not even begin to deter him.

This could not, would not, be allowed to happened again. Siegfried would make sure of it.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Six

 **Author's Note:** This chapter finishes up the story-line from the previous two chapters.

* * *

"And there I was, bravely stepping up to bat, waiting for Tagger Hird's furious bowl. Every muscle in my body was tense as I stared that demon down. I was poised and ready to score six points for our team when it happened."

"When what happened, Mr. Farnon? Go on, don't leave us waiting."

Tristan smiled and took a long sip from his latest pint before turning his attention back to the ring of faces surrounding him.

"The worst possible luck," he continued. "Just at the crucial moment, the sun got into my eyes. Only for a mind you, but that was enough. I lost my perfect stance and was struck with an almighty blow to the chest."

The small crowd of men and women nodded their heads sagely, clearly enraptured by this dramatic re-telling of the cricket match a little over a week ago. Of course, by now, Tristan had polished his delivery considerably after sharing it so many times these last few days.

"And let me tell you, it's no small thing, you know," he added. "To be on the very edge of death. There was darkness. I couldn't hear a thing. It wasn't until I had come to and found my brother valiantly trying to save my life that I even realized what had happened. I'm quite sure that I was dead for a moment or two. Really, it was nothing short of miraculous."

"What's it like, Mr. Farnon?" Ted Watkins, one of the farm hands at Handshaw's place asked him. "You know, being dead?"

"Well, it's not something you can exactly remember," Tristan said. "It's more of a feeling. And not one I'd like to repeat any time soon."

More murmurs of sympathy went through the patrons of the Drovers while Tristan took another long swallow of his drink. He'd already had his first two drinks paid for and wondered if he'd be able to finagle at least one more before the evening was done.

"Ah, I don't believe it."

Tristan, along with everyone else around him glanced over at Mr. Peterson, a day laborer who worked on numerous farms on the outskirts of Darrowby. Peterson scowled back at them and raised his glass of whiskey to his lips.

"No one was e're killed by a cricket ball," he said after taking a sip. "You're talking nonsense."

"Have you ever seen Tagger Hird bowl?" Tristan asked him. "The man is an absolute devil with a cricket ball."

"Aye, and you can get killed that way for sure," Hugh Morgan said. "I'd seen it when I was a lad living over near Brawton. Boys at my school were playing a match and one of 'em was a right fast bowler like that. Eventually played in the local leagues. He hit one of the other boys like that and that boy ne'er got up again. Fell down dead right then and there."

"Ah mebbe," Peterson said. "But I don't believe that he was hit so hard." He waved a dismissive finger at Tristan. "Prolly just couldn't handle a little tap is all."

"A little tap?" Tristan echoed, disbelief coloring his tone. "A little tap? Is that what you think it was?"

Tristan gulped down the rest of his drink and got up from his chair to march over to where Peterson was sitting. Most of the men in the pub followed him, eager to watch the spectacle of this confrontation. Peterson grunted, clearly annoyed at the sudden crowd in his space.

Meanwhile, Tristan plopped down in the chair across from him. "Well, Mr. Peterson, let me show you what 'a little tap' looks like."

Tristan looked back and forth around him, tilting his head. The other men took the hint and huddled around him so none of the women in the pub could see what was about to happen. Satisfied that his gentlemanly modesty would be maintained, Tristan took off his jacket and hitched up his sweater, shirt and undershirt.

By now, there were no more traces of black in the welt, but the bruise was still livid with dark purples and blues, and it was still the size of an orange.

Peterson gazed at it for a moment, his mouth hanging open, and then shook his head before looking down into his glass.

"All right…mebbe it was a bit more than a tap."

"I should say so," Tristan replied, pleased with the effect showing off his bruise still had. So far, every reaction had been quite satisfying with everything from shock, to sympathy and even admiration for bearing up with such a grievous injury being among the responses.

Granted, it also still hurt like hell whenever he exerted himself too much or had to touch it while dressing, a fact he was reminded of right now as he slipped his clothes back down over his torso. Still, he was confident that he would be able to milk everyone's reaction to this injury for at least another week. The way Tristan saw it, if he had to live with the discomfort this bruise continued to give him, he should also be able to enjoy the fussing he got whenever he mentioned it or showed it off. It was only fair.

"Aye, he's a brave lad," Morgan said, patting Tristan's shoulder. Staring down death like that and still has a smile on his face. You know, I think I'd like to buy you a drink, Mr. Farnon, if you don't mind."

"Why that's awfully decent of you, Mr. Morgan," Tristan said, beaming at him. "I wouldn't dream of turning down such generosity."

Tristan got up and followed Morgan to the bar where two more pints of bitter soon appeared. He continued his last few bits of his retelling of the cricket match and the crowd gave him one last wave of well wishes before dispersing. Not that Tristan minded being left alone. He had his latest pint to enjoy, after all.

Peterson got up from his table to get his own refill. As he approached the bar, he gave Tristan another critical look.

"I still say it's not as bad as you keep making it out to be," he said.

"Really, Mr. Peterson," Tristan replied with an air of wounded pride. "And I suppose that welt that I just showed you is a figment of my imagination."

"I'm not saying that," Peterson said. "I'm sure that smarted and all. It's all your 'brink of death' bit you've been laying on."

"You heard what Morgan said," Tristan responded before taking another sip of his beer. "About his school chum."

"Pshh. If it did happen, it were summat else that killed him. Like the boy was already sick. I still don't believe you were almost done in by a cricket ball."

"You're wrong," Morgan said, reappearing from behind Tristan. "I was there when that quack at the field looked at him. And he said that young Mr. Farnon was very lucky indeed."

"There," Tristan said with a grin. "You see?"

"Aye, he said it almost hit him in the heart," Morgan continued. "That's what he told Mr. Farnon. I mean his brother. And Mr. Farnon, you could see that he believed it. Looked ghastly he did. Like he'd been struck in the chest himself. There was fear in his eyes, no mistaking that. Aye, I'd never seen a man look as relieved as Mr. Farnon when young Farnon here opened his eyes."

Peterson grunted and grabbed his glass so he could go back to his table. Meanwhile, Tristan leaned back against the bar and sipped his beer thoughtfully. He had been so out of it the day it happened, he hadn't really noticed Siegfried's reaction to his injury. Then again, he had noticed the brooding his brother had been doing for the last few days.

At first, still caught up in a fit of pique, Tristan had thought that Siegfried was just sour at him because he had exited the match so early without scoring a single point. Now though, Tristan began to re-think this.

' _Serves him right, that devil,'_ he thought. _'After pushing me into that match when he knew that that maniac would be bowling.'_

Tristan tilted his glass back and finished his pint, frowning once he was done. As irritated as he was at Siegfried for getting him recruited for that match, Tristan also knew that his brother would have been terrified by his being so close to death. Siegfried had fretted over him since he was old enough to walk. His older brother's vigilance over his life was often grating, but it wasn't just about driving him mad. Well, some of it probably wasn't anyway.

However, there was the other part of it. The part of him that fussed and worried and set up all those ridiculous rules and had monitored him out of concern and love. It was easy to forget that part. Mostly due to Siegfried's tendency to draw attention to his fits of temper and unreasonableness.

Still, Tristan was always at least vaguely aware that Siegfried did genuinely care about him and believed that he was acting in his younger brother's best interests. It was frequently misguided in Tristan's opinion, but it was more than anyone else, even Mother, would do for him.

Tristan let out a long sigh as he sat his glass onto the bar. He had absolutely no qualms about letting Siegfried squirm if he felt his brother deserved it. However, one thing he never enjoyed was watching Siegfried suffer. And knowing how his elder brother's mind tended to work, Tristan was certain that Siegfried at least partially blamed himself for what happened.

Which Tristan agreed with to some extent. Nevertheless, being annoyed at Siegfried's tendency to volunteer him for things he didn't want to do was far different than believing that Siegfried had anything to do with his nearly dying. And that was a burden Tristan never would want on his brother's heart.

Tristan gave the bartender a smile and a nod before leaving the pub.

* * *

When he arrived back at Skeldale, he found Siegfried milling around the surgery, gathering pills into packets and making notes in the ledger. Tristan watched him silently from the doorway, unsure of how to start this conversation.

"Hello, little brother," Siegfried said suddenly, not looking up from the ledger in front of him. "You're back early. A shortage of bitter at the Drovers tonight, I take it?"

Tristan snorted. He had expected this sort of greeting. Along with his brooding, there had been plenty of irritable behavior from Siegfried of late. Another symptom of his brother's troubled state of mind. Although, at that moment he also wondered how Siegfried always knew when he was nearby without actually looking at him. It was something Siegfried had been able to do for years.

"Just felt like having an early night," Tristan said. He hoisted himself up to sit on the counter. "Thought I'd turn in early. Or maybe get some extra swotting in."

Siegfried finally raised his head. "Are you feeling quite well, Tristan? Is that welt starting to bother you again? I still have some morphine if you need it."

"No, it's ok," Tristan assured him. "Just aches sometimes."

Siegfried nodded, studying him for a long moment before turning his attention back to the medicines in front of him.

Tristan cleared his throat. "Siegfried?"

Siegfried did not look back up. "Yes, dear brother."

Tristan frowned. He knew what he wanted to say, but he was having a difficult time finding the words. "Um, well, I was thinking that maybe I should go back to doing rounds next week. You know, with you and Sean being so pushed and all."

"No. No, not for at least another week," Siegfried said. "I saw that bruise when you were showing it off to Mr. Adams in the garden yesterday. You're staying in the surgery until I'm absolutely sure that you won't overdo it on your rounds."

"But Siegfried…."

"Save your breath to cool your porridge, my mind is made up. And now, little brother, if there is nothing else, I do need to finish this before I go out tonight."

Tristan sighed. Clearly, Siegfried was not going to give him any graceful way to approach the subject he had in mind. He'd simply have to take the plunge and hope for the best.

Which wasn't too far off from how he tended to operate, really.

"I really do feel better, Siegfried. So you don't need to worry or…."

"Tristan, don't be ridiculous," Siegfried said with a short laugh. "I'm only thinking of the practice."

Tristan scrunched his eyebrows together. "The practice?"

"Of course," Siegfried said as if it couldn't be anything else. "How do you think it would look to our clients if you were to faint while on the job? Or if you were to become so overwhelmed with pain that you ended up legless?"

"I'm hardly that bad off, Siegfried," Tristan said with a laugh of his own.

"Tristan, I'm not in the habit of repeating myself," Siegfried said. "But I did tell you that my mind is made up. Consider the matter closed. We'll discuss it again at the end of next week."

Tristan sighed again. The brittle edge to Siegfried's tone told him that his brother would not budge even an inch on the matter. It meant another week of being cooped up in the surgery for sure. He wasn't thrilled about it, but Tristan still had something far more pressing on his mind right now.

"Siegfried…I really am all right, you know," he said, his tone quiet and serious. "It was just…well just a bit of the worst sort of luck. But it turned out all right, and I'm better now. So no need to worry so much."

Siegfried did not look up at him, but his movements abruptly stopped, his posture sagging.

"Tristan…I…."

Tristan felt his chest ache again, this time due to the strain in his brother's voice. "I know," he said softly. "But it wasn't…it was all Tagger Hird's fault, you see? That fiend doesn't care who has to go through to win a wretched cricket match."

Tristan slid off the counter and moved to stand next to Siegfried.

"I'm sorry. That you were there and had to see…well, you know. But I'm really glad you were there too. I don't remember most of it, but I…." Tristan took a deep breath. "I know that you saved my life. And that afterwards, when I didn't feel right at all, you stayed with me. I'm sorry I didn't thank you before. I should have. So, I…I wanted to do it now."

Siegfried took a shuddering breath. He looked up and turned to the side, not quite facing him. Then he reached over and clasped Tristan's forearm.

"Little brother…" he mumbled. He stayed like that for a moment before finally clearing his throat. "Of course, you know, that I'll be here if you need anything. Anything at all. You know that, don't you…Tristan?"

Tristan smiled at him. "Yes, I know."

Siegfried nodded and gave his arm one more squeeze before letting go and turning back toward the assortment of medicines.

"Of course, I'm not sure what we'll do next year," Siegfried added hastily, his voice still a bit unsteady. "Sean has decided to leave and who knows if I'll have another steady assistant lined up by then."

"Oh no," Tristan groaned. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Well, Hird is going to have to find somebody else to injure because it's not going to be me."

"Now, Tristan, really. It's not as if he's actually trying to hurt people."

"Really? I'm not so sure about that."

"Well of course he isn't. It wouldn't be cricket, after all. Although…." Siegfried paused and tapped the edge of his chin with his forefinger. "You do have a point. We can't allow what happened to you to repeat itself."

Tristan grinned, his shoulders almost slumping in relief…until he realized that Siegfried hadn't actually said what he had in mind.

"What do you mean?" he said, instantly suspicious.

"I mean we only have a year to make sure that you're ready for your re-match," Siegfried said. "We certainly can't have you getting injured again, so that means training, my dear boy, extensive training. Mark my words, the next time you face Tagger Hird, you'll have nothing to worry about."

"Siegfried! You…."

"Now let me see, I don't know if Mr. Blenkinsopp knows anyone who could give you the sort of instruction you'll need," Siegfried continued. "But there's always good old Arnie Braithwaite. He says he knows plenty of cricket players. I'm sure one of them can teach you how to handle yourself at bat. I'll call on him tomorrow. I know, I'll call over his place tonight to see if he'll be home."

Siegfried started to march out of the room, but just as he reached the doorway he stopped, turned and went back over to grasp Tristan's arms.

"Just leave it to me, little brother," he beamed at him. "I'll make sure you'll be ready by next year. You wait and see."

Siegfried hummed a little tune to himself as he left the room. Meanwhile, Tristan let out an exasperated huff. Well, he supposed this was better than Siegfried excessively worrying over him. Besides, he had a whole year to figure out a way out of that blasted match. Tristan was sure he could come up with something.

Tristan chuckled and pulled a Woodbine out of his pocket, lighting it up. He knew there was a chance he'd get caught, but right now, he doubted anything could ruin his mood.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note** : These next few chapters take place pre-canon and after Tristan moves in with Siegfried. By this point, Tristan is twelve and Siegfried is twenty-eight.

* * *

Chapter Eight

"All right, students, listen carefully because I have an important announcement to make, and I shall need your full attention."

Tristan let out a long sigh and slumped in his chair. Headmaster Brindley was always saying things like that. Always preparing everyone for what he thought was some vital momentous announcement. Problem was, it could be anything from the handing out of final marks for the term to the introduction of a new textbook for one of the classes.

Tristan tugged at the lapel of his school uniform jacket. It was too soon for final grades to be sent home and there was no gossip floating about over any potential staff changes at the school. So this was likely one of the trivial announcements Brindley gave to try to make himself more relevant than he actually was to the day-by-day operations of the school.

Even more annoying to Tristan was the fact that these announcements often meant staying in class a few extra minutes at the end of the day.

"As you know, the end of the academic year shall soon be upon us," Brindley said, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced back and forth. "This year, we, that is I and the rest of this administration, have decided that a celebration is in order. A celebration that will not only be for you, our students, but also for your parents."

Brindley stopped pacing. A wisp of his salt-and-pepper hair bobbed onto his forehead as he turned toward the class to place his hands on the edges of the lectern.

"Therefore, we will be holding a special Academic Honors dinner two weeks from now. Students shall attend the dinner with their parents, and we shall have a brief ceremony beforehand to recognize the achievements of our top academic performers."

That lock of hair became even more animated as Brindley leaned in.

"And I know it's not truly necessary for me to mention this, but I feel I must point out that attendance is mandatory. Barring a genuine family emergency or written refusal from your parents, of course. Now then, that is all for today. You will find a stack of envelopes on the edge of that table near the door. Each of you shall take one home and have your parents mail the enclosed envelope and invitation with their signatures and their intent for this special event, including how many shall be attending."

Brindley paused and held up an index finger. "But please, be sure to impress upon your parents that no more than two seats will be available for each family. This is to be a night for parents and students only. Good day to you all."

The students immediately jumped up from their chairs, grabbing their books and papers and shuffling into a line to get their envelopes before leaving.

Tristan, however, took his time getting up and joining the queue. In fact, by the time that got moving, he was almost at the end of the line and had to trudge slowly along for what seemed like hours before finally making it to the table to get his invitation.

Once he was there, he fetched his enveloped and was about to walk out, but instead paused and waited until the other students were gone before clearing his throat.

Brindley turned and peered at him over the rims of his spectacles. "Something amiss, Mr. Farnon?"

"No sir, I…." Tristan cleared his throat again. "I mean, I…It's the dinner, sir. I…well, I'm not sure I can come."

"Not come? Of course you have to come, Farnon," Brindley said. "I did make it clear, did I not, that attendance was mandatory?"

Tristan felt a knot forming in his stomach. "You did, sir, it's just…what I meant was that I am not sure I will be able to come."

"Why not?" Brindley asked. "Surely, it is no trouble for your mother and father to spend time to focus on your academic career. Think of how your father will feel upon witnessing an acknowledgement of your achievement."

Tristan worked hard to suppress the sigh that rose up to his throat. "My father passed away years ago, sir. He was in the Great War."

"Ah yes, that's right, that's right," Brindley said, nodding. "My apologies. What of your mother then? I was under the impression that she was still living."

"Yes sir," Tristan said. "But I don't live with her. Remember? So she wouldn't be able to…."

"Don't live with her? Why that's absurd," Brindley frowned. "Then who in heaven's name is looking after…oh, yes, I do remember now. You're staying with your…uncle, is it?"

"My brother, sir."

"Yes, yes, that's right," Brindley nodded again. "Odd arrangement that. A boy should live with his parents. In a household where he can be carefully minded. Not sharing space in a bachelor dwelling. What aren't you living with your mother?"

"Sir, I won't be able get this invitation to my mother in Brawton before tomorrow," Tristan pressed on. "So she probably won't be able to…."

"Why, that's no trouble at all," Brindley interrupted. "Simply write your mother's address onto this envelope, and I shall take it to the post myself. "And even if, by some unfortunate circumstance, she chooses to not come, I'm afraid I shall have to insist that you attend anyway."

"By myself?" Tristan said, gaping. "But sir, I…."

"No, I am very sorry, but I must insist," Brindley replied. "Mr. Farnon, are you aware that you and Mr. Morris hold the top marks in your class? Imagine holding a dinner to celebrate academic achievement and not have one of our top performing students in attendance. It's unthinkable. No, I'm afraid you must attend if at all possible."

Tristan finally let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping down. He knew he could try to make another effort to get out of this dinner, but it wouldn't do him any good. Not when Brindley had that tone in his voice. He dutifully filled out his mother's address onto the envelope and watched dejectedly as Brindley scooped it up with the rest of his papers.

"Do not look so downhearted, Mr. Farnon," Brindley said. "I will make sure that this invitation will be sent to Brawton by tomorrow morning and will eagerly await your mother's reply."

Tristan nodded and shuffled out of the room. Just outside in the corridor, a couple of his friends, Paul Martin and David Wakefield, were waiting for him.

"Hey Tris," Wakefield said. "What were you doing? You're not in trouble, are you? He didn't find out about the glass of chalk in the chemistry laboratory, did he?"

"Nah, he just wanted to ask me something about the dinner," Tristan said with a weak grin.

"Yeah, what a bother," Martin huffed. "But at least they'll be serving some fancy food to impress our parents. Not the usual stuff they give us."

All three of the boys nodded eagerly at the prospect of something more appealing than the usual bland rice puddings and dry cuts of meat that were so often served to the students.

"I gotta go," Tristan said. "I'll see you later."

Martin and Wakefield patted his arms and waved as Tristan walked away. Unlike many of his friends at the school, Tristan lived off of the campus with Siegfried in order to make the cost of tuition more affordable. It was a common arrangement as many of the other boys belonged to farming families who either couldn't afford to board their sons at the school or who needed their children to help with the farm labor.

However, it also meant that Tristan wasn't able to spend as much time as he would like with his friends. But, he also had friends in Darrowby itself and was always entertained by the colorful characters he met in the village. Thus, he was rarely lonely.

Still, Brindley's focus on family during his announcement along with the questions he had asked afterward stirred an uncomfortable feeling in Tristan that persisted even as he went outside to wait for his brother.

He knew he stood out due to his odd name and somewhat unusual home life, but most of the time, it didn't bother him. Sure, some of his classmates and even some of his teachers indicated how different they considered him, but it was never enough to distress him. The way Tristan saw it, there were always going to be some people he didn't get on with, so there was no point in dwelling on it. Not when there were always plenty of other people to be friends with and fun adventures to be found.

"Hey Sissy, you told old Brindley you don't have any parents to go to that dinner?"

Tristan ground his teeth, but didn't turn around. It was Neil Milner, the bane of his existence. Neil had been a thorn in Tristan's side ever since he had moved to Darrowby to live with Siegfried. Tristan had tried ignoring him and giving him wide berth, but Neil never seemed to get tired of picking on him. It didn't help that Neil was also several inches taller and more than a few pounds heavier than him.

"I have parents," Tristan finally sighed. "I have my mother. And she'll be going." He turned to smirk at Neil. "You'll see."

"Sure she will," Neil snickered. "She already threw you out 'cause she didn't want you around. So why would she come to some dumb dinner for you? _My_ mum and dad will be there though."

Tristan snorted and turned away. He never bothered to explain the reasons why he lived with Siegfried, even when asked directly. Partially because he didn't care about people like Neil Milner anyway. And partially because Tristan never liked to talk about his cousin Jack and the years he spent enduring Jack's ill treatment of him. It brought forth too many memories. Memories that made him feel anxious and that he wondered if he'd ever be able to forget.

That familiar nervous feeling began to creep up on him, and Tristan put a smile on his face to try and shake it off. Mother rarely went out, but when she did, she loved to socialize. Especially over a nice dinner. Thus, Tristan was sure that she would want to come to this event.

Plus, it would give him some more time to spend with her, something that wasn't always possible due to Siegfried's busy schedule and Jack's frequent presence in the house. After taking him in, Siegfried had made a rule that he had to accompany Tristan to any visits with Mother, a rule that Tristan was grateful for. Thus, he usually had to wait until Siegfried was free to visit. This time though, he'd have a reason to visit with Mother on his own.

Suddenly, a car sped up to the front of the school, slamming to a halt only a foot away from Tristan. The engine didn't stop running, but a familiar face appeared just outside the driver's window.

"Hurry up and get in," Siegfried called out to him. "Duncan has got a cow in labor and it doesn't look good."

Tristan nodded and threw his satchel into the backseat before climbing into the front. He had just gotten the car door shut before Siegfried tore off down the road.

Once they had been on the road for a couple of breathless minutes, Siegfried glanced over at him and then reached an arm behind him to fumble with a basket in the backseat. When he couldn't find what he was looking for, Siegfried would turn his head so he could see what he was grabbing for.

It was harrowing to watch his brother drive without actually paying attention to the road, but Tristan had gotten used to it. Mostly.

"Here," Siegfried said, pulling out a bundle wrapped in wax paper out of the basket. He finally returned his attention to road and tossed the bundle into Tristan's lap. "You'll need that while we're out. I don't know for certain how long this is going to take."

Tristan tore the paper away to find a hearty ham sandwich inside. Already feeling rather peckish from his long day at school, he took a large bite out it right away.

"So how did you do on this week's examination?" Siegfried asked. "Did you remember those hints I taught you to solve those equations?"

"Uh-umm," Tristan nodded as he chewed. "I did all right."

Siegfried's eyebrows went up. "All right? What does that mean?"

"Well…all right."

"Tristan, I know for a fact that you are receiving a fine education at that school. Part of that education must surely include a mastery of that excellent mode of communication, the English language. So try, try little brother, to elaborate beyond 'all right'."

"I'm pretty sure I got most of them right," Tristan replied. He stalled by taking another big bite out of his sandwich, chewing slowly and then swallowing before continuing. "At least I think I did. Still, there's always the finals. And I've done well on the homework."

Siegfried let out an exasperated sigh. "You only think you've done 'well'? After all those hours we spent going over those equations? You were supposed to keep practicing them after I went over them with you. You did that, didn't you?"

"More or less," Tristan said with what he hoped looked like a confident smile.

"More or…." Siegfried shook his head. "Know this, Tristan, if those scores turn out to be anything less than satisfactory, there will be plenty of revision for you in the near future. And a couple of chores to keep you from idling away your time."

Tristan nodded, continuing to munch on the rest of his sandwich. He watched the green slopes of the Dales rush by his window while he ate. Eventually, he couldn't help but chuckle over how Brindley appeared to have this perception of him as a serious, dedicated student who had a burning passion for schoolwork. A day spent with his older brother would show the headmaster what actually inspired him to keep his marks up.

The fact was, Siegfried demanded excellence from his studies. Tristan knew that "satisfactory" did not mean merely passing or earning an average grade. No, Siegfried never set his sights that low. Granted, Siegfried didn't always give him grief for marks below his usual standard, but Tristan knew that there was a definite limit to his elder brother's patience, especially if he was convinced that Tristan could do better.

Once he was finished eating, Tristan balled up the paper and stuffed it into the basket. Then he leaned back in his seat and stared at the scenery. He was fairly certain he did well enough on this last maths exam to please Siegfried although there never were any guarantees. His brother's standards could change on a whim and had done so in the past.

Still, Tristan saw no point in worrying about that for now. Things like that were best left to tomorrow anyway.

* * *

Almost two hours later, Siegfried finally arrived back at the manor Siegfried's boss, Alistair Grant, owned just outside of Darrowby. The manor that Siegfried and Tristan also called home these days. Next to the manor was the surgery and dispensary which was connected through a passageway in the main hallway on the ground floor.

Siegfried and Tristan had adjoining bedrooms on the first floor. Grant had been kind enough to offer the neighboring room to Tristan on the day Siegfried took him away from Brawton for good. Tristan's room was smaller than the one he had had while living with Mother, but like most of the other bedrooms, it had its own fireplace which helped with the chill that crept into the house and still had plenty of space for his furniture and belongings.

After parking, Siegfried let out a deep breath and stretched in his seat. Tristan noted the haggard look on his brother's face and wasn't shocked by it.

The calving had been straightforward overall, but for some reason, the cow had given up on doing any of the work of giving birth. Thus, it had fallen on Siegfried to put in all of the effort in order to get that calf out of the womb.

Tristan had watched his brother's struggle with interest. Siegfried had told him to work on his homework while he waited, and Tristan did get most of it done whenever he took a break from watching Siegfried. Still, his history reading was nowhere near as exciting as watching Siegfried engage in a tug of war to bring a new calf into the world. Seeing Siegfried, shirtless, muscles straining, his brow dripping with perspiration as he pulled; Tristan admired his brother's strength. Both the physical strength and Siegfried's strength of will. His determination to save both the calf and the cow.

It was during times like this that Tristan remembered some of the reasons why he looked up to Siegfried so much. Those times when Siegfried was strong, but also compassionate. Dogged in his efforts, but also intelligent enough to let his reason rather than his passion to guide him.

And just like those other times when Tristan was reminded of the finer qualities his elder brother had, he wondered if he had it in him to follow in Siegfried's footsteps.

"Go get out of that uniform and get ready for supper," Siegfried told him a moment later.

"Right."

"And Tristan?"

Tristan had opened the car door, but paused, already uneasy about what Siegfried might say next.

"I'm sure that you'll be able to finish your homework before we eat with plenty of time to spare. So I suggest, little brother, that you use that time wisely because I will be going over your work before you go to bed."

"Yes, Siegfried," Tristan sighed.

He grabbed his satchel from the back and looked up to see Siegfried exiting the car, a grin on his face. Tristan was about to head for the front door when Siegfried waved a hand at him. As he walked over, his older brother pulled a small paper bag from his pocket and fished out a lemon drop, one of Tristan's favorite candies.

Tristan grinned back at him and opened his mouth. Siegfried popped the candy in.

"Now, buzz off, little brother," he said, giving Tristan's shoulder a firm pat.

Tristan's smile grew as he sucked on the candy, following Siegfried into the house.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note** : Next chapter. This is a continuation of the pre-canon story I started in the previous chapter.

 _Silver Fox_ : Thank you so much for that. :) I know I have been slow with updates these days, but I hope you'll continue to enjoy these stories as I try to get them out sooner. Thanks again.

* * *

Chapter Nine

Three days later, the phone rang at Grant's manor, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Gowers, called Tristan downstairs.

"A phone call for you, young Farnon," she said before heading back to the kitchen. Tristan held the receiver up to his ear, curious as to who it was and eager to find out.

"Tristan, I just received your invitation," Mother said over the line. "And your headmaster had added a note about your marks in school. Oh Tristan, I am so proud and so happy for you."

Tristan grinned, his smile so wide, his cheeks ached a bit. "Thank you. I worked hard this year. Studied every night."

Truthfully, Tristan knew that this wasn't completely accurate. Sure, he looked through his study materials every day, but sometimes, that's all he did. Although he knew that Siegfried and maybe even Mother wouldn't agree with him, Tristan figured that all the time spent memorizing the important material for exams and strategizing the best ways to convince his older brother that he had spent all night studying should count for something.

"Mother, are you going to come to the dinner?" Tristan asked, hopeful. "Everybody is going to be there."

"Of course I'll come, dear," Mother answered. "I wouldn't dream of missing it. And is Siegfried coming as well?"

Tristan gulped. He hadn't actually told his brother about the dinner yet and hoped he could get away with keeping it from Siegfried. It wasn't so much that he thought that Siegfried would react negatively to the news or because he was ashamed of having Siegfried come.

Still….

Twinges of guilt made Tristan feel like his insides were twisting about. Siegfried didn't have a lot of spare time due to how busy Grant's practice was. And a large portion of the time he did have to himself was spent doing things for his younger brother: taking him to visit Mother, helping him with his studies or finding something fun for the two of them to do. It felt unfair to ask his brother to take time to accompany him to this dinner too.

Plus, Tristan knew that Siegfried had made plans to go to Brawton with Susan Breckenshire, a very pretty woman who his elder brother had been trying to spend time with for weeks. And that date was on the same night that the school dinner was to be held. If Siegfried missed this opportunity, who knows when he'd get another chance.

Maybe it was silly, but Tristan wanted his brother not to have to think about him for a change. Everyone had their limits, a line which, when crossed, meant that they were at the end of their reserves of patience and generosity. It was part of the reason why Tristan worked so hard to not bother Mother with things that would just worry her and did his best to keep up a cheerful, or at the very least pleasant, demeanor at all times around her. It was the least he could do to make up for all the mistakes he made while living with her.

Tristan felt the knots in his stomach tighten. Surely, Siegfried would eventually tire of his little brother's blunders and misbehavior and of being responsible for him. Jack had told Tristan this more than once during the first couple of times he came to visit Mother after moving to Darrowby, and he couldn't help but see it as an inevitable truth.

But that didn't mean he couldn't delay it from happening for as long as possible.

"No, um, Siegfried…he's busy with work and all," Tristan mumbled. "Mr. Grant says the practice is busier than ever right now. He usually isn't home 'til late anymore."

"Oh I see," Mother said. "Yes, Siegfried does work so hard. And I know he loves his work. It's such a shame though. I'm sure he would have liked to have come. But don't worry, dear. I'll have Nellie take me in the car to Darrowby. Then the three of us can go together."

"Thank you," Tristan said, grinning. "I can't wait."

"Nor can I, dear. I see so little of you these days. But I know that you are very busy along with Siegfried."

"Uh-huh. I saw Siegfried help deliver a calf the other day. And yesterday, he was helping a horse with his teeth."

"It sounds like he's been taking you with him on his visits again," Mother said with a laugh. "Tristan…I'm sure you see plenty of interesting things during these visits and all, but…oh, I'm not sure, what with your studies and all…."

"Don't worry, Mother," Tristan insisted. "I get my homework done. Honest. That's why my marks are good. And I like going on the rounds. The farmers are nice and yesterday, Siegfried said I was better than a lot of vet students at threading suture needles."

"I see," Mother laughed again. "Well, as long as your studies are going well. But now, I'm afraid I must go. I told Nellie that I'd handle dinner tonight so I will need to get started if I'm going to get done before she and Jack come home. I will see you soon. Take care and give my love to Siegfried."

"I will," Tristan said. "Bye Mother. Thanks again."

Tristan hung up the phone, the grin on his face continuing to grow. A tiny part of him still felt bad about lying to Mother, even though there was a lot of truth in that lie. Siegfried would be busy that night and now it looked like he could get away with not telling his elder brother about this dinner at all. He would just have to come up with a way to explain his going out that evening. Granted, Siegfried would be preoccupied with his date, but he would probably still keep an eye on his younger brother's movements.

Tristan put a hand to his chin. He sometimes had dinner at Thomas Yates' house when Siegfried had to work nights. He had used that as a cover for going out by himself before, and he was pretty sure Siegfried hadn't seen through the ruse yet. Yes, that would do nicely as a way to satisfy any unwanted curiosity Siegfried might have about his activities that evening.

"Something amusing you, little brother?"

Tristan nearly jumped a foot straight up into the air. He turned his head to see Siegfried studying him from a couple feet away. How had his brother sneaked up on him like that without making a sound?

"Siegfried, I…um, no, it's nothing. Just…I was taking to Mother."

"Oh?" Siegfried said, moving closer. "Damn, I would have liked to have spoken to her. Did she say what she wanted?"

"She just wanted to see how we were," Tristan said with a shrug. "How I was doing in school and you with work and all that. She wanted me to let you know she's thinking about you and ask you when we're coming over to visit."

"Yes, it has been a while," Siegfried muttered. "But with the practice being so busy right now and you finishing up your studies for the year…it's hard to find the time."

He put the tip of his index finger to the side of his mouth, his brow furrowing. Tristan knew that look as the one Siegfried got while trying to sort through the numerous obligations he was expected to remember. A challenge Siegfried wasn't always able to accomplish without help.

"No, it simply won't do," Siegfried finally said, shaking his head. "We are just going to have to make the time. I have been neglecting Mother lately and by extension, so have you." He tapped his index finger against his chin before smiling at last.

"I know, I'll arrange it so we can visit next week. John should be back from visiting his aunt by then. I'm sure he wouldn't mind taking my surgery hours for a day."

"Oh no, you can't do that!" Tristan insisted.

Siegfried's brow furrowed again, a question apparent in the glint of his eyes. "And why can't I, little brother?"

Tristan's mouth dropped open. He couldn't very well tell Siegfried that it was because he didn't want Siegfried to see Mother before the dinner had happened. And every other excuse that came to him would be taken as rude or selfish.

Siegfried continued to watch him while Tristan's mind raced to find a solution. Before long, his mouth curled into the reflexive smile he usually wore to hide what he was thinking or feeling.

"Because…because next week is the Snowflake Dance. Everyone around Darrowby is talking about it. And I hear that Susan might be going. So, you know, I figured that you…."

"Tristan, I see you're still spending far too much time indulging in the local gossip," Siegfried sighed. "It's a distressing habit that I do hope you'll learn to curb in the future. Still…it probably would be better to give John more notice when asking for an additional day off. Yes, perhaps waiting until the week after that would be better. I shall call Mother here soon and let her know."

"Right," Tristan nodded, his smile growing. Siegfried was likely to forget about making that phone call without a reminder and Tristan had no intention of giving it to him. Not until after the dinner.

Siegfried frowned at him. "Don't you have a maths exam to study for?"

"Um, yes, I should…."

Tristan made vague gestures at the staircase before rushing up toward his room.

"And I'm going to read over that essay you were supposed to write for your history class," Siegfried called after him. "So you better have it ready for me before dinner."

Tristan paused at the top of the stairs, closing his eyes and letting out a soft groan frustration. He had hoped that Siegfried wouldn't ask to see it so that he could finish writing it in the morning right before classes started. How was he going to get it done tonight and get in enough swotting to convince Siegfried that he was ready for that maths exam?

He sighed. Tristan had wanted to spend some time reading the new science fiction magazine Paul had lent him. Now every spare minute would have to be spent on his homework. Really, Siegfried was impossible sometimes. Well, a lot of the time….

Tristan trudged toward his room, wondering how long he'd have to hold onto the magazine before Siegfried let him have enough free time to enjoy it.

* * *

The next few days continued on in their usual hectic fashion with Tristan squeezing in his studies in between the chores Siegfried assigned him, time spent with his friends in school and around Darrowby and going out with his brother on Siegfried's rounds.

In fact, Tristan had been so busy, he had nearly forgotten about the dinner that was coming up until four days before it was set to happen.

Then, that afternoon, he got a phone call that turned all of his plans upside down.

"Oh Tristan, I am sorry," Mother told him. "I was so happy to hear about how well you are doing in school, I had forgotten about how I had promised Nellie to go with her and Jack to meet some friends who were visiting. It completely slipped my mind, and Jack has already bought our tickets for the theater and made dinner reservations for the three of us."

"But, but the dinner," Tristan spluttered. "The headmaster said I had to attend. Everyone…everyone is going to be there with their parents. Please, you have to come."

"Tristan, I know this was important to you and I so dearly wanted to go. But I had already promised Nellie. And Jack. Dear, you know how out of sorts Jack can be when things disrupt the plans he's made."

Tristan swallowed hard. Yes, he knew all too well how upset Jack could get when something didn't work out the way he wanted it to. Especially if Tristan had anything to do with those plans going awry.

Granted, there was nothing Jack could do to him now that he lived with Siegfried. However, Jack would probably take out his frustration onto Mother instead and in much more subtle ways, making her life far more tense and unhappy. It was something Tristan had always been careful to prevent. He loved Mother too much to let her get hurt that way.

And Tristan knew he could prevent it again. All he had to do was what he usually did in this situation: take the brunt of the consequences when things went wrong.

"It's all right, Mother," he choked out. "Nellie's counting on you and all. I can go by myself. I'll, I'll just tell Mr. Brindley that something came up."

"Yes, thank you, dear," Mother said with more than a hint of relief in her voice. "Tristan I am sorry. The next time Siegfried brings you to visit, we'll be sure to go somewhere you like. How about to the cinema? I know you've wanted to go for a while."

"That'd be great, thank you," Tristan said. "I, I can't wait to go."

"I'll talk to Siegfried the next time he stops by to arrange it," Mother said. "Speaking of which, maybe he could go with you instead. If it's not too busy, of course. And I'm sure you'll have plenty of fun seeing all of your friends."

"Oh I will," Tristan assured her. "They're all going to be there. I, I'll ask Thomas if he'll let me sit with him and his parents."

"That sounds lovely, dear. You have a good time and I'll look forward to your next visit. Give Siegfried my love. Oh and Nellie wishes you well too."

"Thank you. You have a good time too. Bye."

Mother wished him well a couple more times before finally hanging up. Once the call was over, Tristan's shoulders sagged, his hands curling into tight balls.

It wasn't Mother's fault that she could come. It was really Jack's fault. At least, that's what Tristan wanted to believe. Mother would have come if it hadn't been for Jack. She had promised and she never broke her promises to him willingly.

Still, this also wasn't the first time that Mother had chosen to keep the peace in the house by deferring to what Jack wanted rather than stand firm with something to ensure Tristan's happiness. It wasn't fair. It never was. But Tristan knew that there was nothing he could do about it.

This was how it would always turn out in this situation. Always.

Tristan's hands trembled. Despite all of his efforts to push the hurt and disappointment away, they were building up inside him. And at the moment, he wasn't sure if he could stop it from flooding out.

"Tristan? What's the matter?"

Tristan's head snapped up to see Siegfried walking in through the door after finishing his rounds. His brother had smudges of dirt on his jacket and on the tip of his nose. Ordinarily, Tristan would be curious about where all that came from, but right now, he couldn't even look at Siegfried, his head bowing back down toward the floor.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? I very much doubt that," Siegfried said, sitting his back down onto a nearby stand. "Obviously something is on your mind. Is it school? A bad mark I should know about, perhaps? Or is it that writing assignment you were supposed to finish for your English class?"

"No, nothing like that," Tristan mumbled. "And I did finish that assignment like you said. You looked at it last night, remember? Oh of course you don't. You never remember."

Siegfried frowned at the peevish tone in his younger brother's voice. "Then it's something else. Tristan, if you are in trouble…."

Tristan finally looked up, irritation twisting his face into a scowl of his own. "I said it was nothing!" he snapped. "Why can't you just leave it alone? Why do you always have to bother me about everything? I'm sick of it!"

The frown on Siegfried's face became angry, but Tristan pushed past him before his elder brother could respond. He dashed up the stairs and into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Once he was there, he threw himself onto the bed and buried his face into his pillow. Tristan knew that this wouldn't be the end of it. Siegfried might leave him alone for now, but eventually, he would demand an explanation. Tristan also knew that he should be spending some time trying to come up with something that would explain his behavior to Siegfried in a way that was both plausible and not serious enough to inspire his elder brother to dwell on it.

Right now though, Tristan couldn't care about any of that. Not about Siegfried or Mother or the dinner or anything else.

The only thing he could think about was how terribly alone he felt.


End file.
